Dawning Sun
by freya-sundust
Summary: Set a few months after the end of Mockingjay, Katniss is alone and broken, but when Peeta makes his way back into her life, she realizes how she really feels for him. With sparks of rebellion, will anything stand in their way?
1. Chapter One

Part I: The Setting

As I wake, both my mind and my vision are blurred. I've slept in, I realize. It is far past dawn, the sun is already making its attempt towards the top of the sky. I stretch my arms out as far as I can, yawning. I step out of bed and blindly carry myself down the stairs.

I can hear the busy chatter of birds outside as I cut myself a hunk of bread. I heat up some milk on the stove, adding a dash of cinnamon and sugar. I've long since lost my taste for coffee, its bitter taste always leaving me wanting more. I don't like to rely on much, even if it is just a simple cup of coffee.

Although the warmed milk tastes sweet with the raisin bread, it is nothing compared to a breakfast served in the Capitol. I sit there, dreaming not of the lives lived in the Capitol, but of the savory meals they must eat.

I know now that in theory, we should be equals. Social workers from all over the country have been working diligently to create the new kind of Panem, where everyone has the same rights and opportunities. Districts would no longer be prejudiced against, but celebrated in unity. I usually wouldn't take an interest in any of this, but Plutarch has gone out of his way the past few months to keep me up to date on everything. I know that he has only been doing this to help me, but most of it is pointless to me. I try to act interested though, mostly for the sake of keeping Plutarch happy and out of my business.

I shake my head, almost as if to shake all the thoughts of the Capitol and my memories associated with it. I head up to the bathroom, and take a hot shower, the steam opening my pores and the hot water beating against my back. After several minutes of this, I finally begin scrubbing myself clean, first my hair, and then the rest of my body. Once I am done, I wrap up in a towel and change into a fresh pair of clothes.

I attempt to comb the tangles from my hair, and pin it up into a simple bun my mother taught me long ago. I know that leaving it this way will only result in a curly mess later today, but it doesn't really matter; there is no one who I worry about seeing that might judge me.

After brushing my teeth and slipping on some shoes, I head out the door. I never truly have a place to go or someone to see, but I never have anything else to do with my time. Before I leave, I reach for a small purse my mother sent me a few months ago, and slip it around my shoulder. I check to make sure there is money there, and then head for town.

This is often how I spend my days, wandering around District Twelve, visiting new shops that have been built, or just walking through the meadow. Most people find themselves busy with jobs, but because I don't have one, my days seem much slower.

A few months after I returned home, I received a letter from the Capitol explaining how I would begin receiving a Veteran's Commission. Basically, anyone who served during the war will receive a check every month. For a family, it would be no where near enough to meet needs. But, because I live alone, and because I rarely buy anything besides food, I have more than enough.

Walking through the city square, I see how everything has transformed over the last year. Shops have been repaired, broken windows replaced and shopfronts painted. It seems odd how quickly the citizens of our District repaired themselves. Those that are left, that is.

As I walk past the spot where the bakery used to sit, I can't help thinking of Peeta's family, and their sad fate. I look back to that day of the Reaping, when his father brought me those cookies, and promised to keep Prim alive. He never owed me anything. He acted only out of the compassion in his heart. I realize how similar his son is.

I decide to head for the Hob, which really isn't even the place it once was. After the war, the Capitol worked with each District, building businesses and helping people find new jobs. Immediately people started fleeing towards the new factory, which makes medicine for all of Panem. But, others, those who were longing to have their old jobs back, mostly to create some comfort in their torn lives, were given second chances.

So, the Hob was torn down, created fresh. Now, it is a farmer's market, or so the Capitol named it. Plutarch told me once, on one of his visits, that farmer's markets used to be every where in Old Times, before the Dark Days. Basically, anyone who wants to sell or trade can go there and set up a stand, legally. I often visit just to see the odds and ends everyone is selling.

I walk up, seeing that many have taken advantage of this warm spring morning. Many children are here, helping their mothers. Some people are selling food, others clothes and toys. I can hear the shouts of men debating over the price of something, and children playing. I suddenly feel sorrowful, thinking of Prim. I wish that she could be here, seeing how new and great this place is. She would love this, the warm weather, the sunshine, everything.

But, she will never know.

I cross over to the simple stand Greasy Sae has set up with her granddaughter. She is selling soup, as always. I sit down on one of the stools she has set up and buy a bowl. I see that I am not the only one interested in her stand; several people sit next to me, slurping up her stew.

"Out and about today, are we?" Greasy Sae asks, filling up my bowl.

I nod, my mouth full of soup. She just sends her toothy smile back, turning to add something more to the kettle of soup.

I sit there, slurping up my soup, watching as shoppers walk by. It is several minutes before I feel a gentle _tap _on my back. I turn around to see Greasy Sae's granddaughter smiling up at me, holding out a small piece of rope. I gently take the piece of rope, turning it over in my fingers.

"Thank you very much," I say gently, nodding.

"Liese! Stop bothering everyone!" Greasy Sae yells, and and Liese quickly scampers back next to her grandmother. I slide the piece of rope into my pocket, finish the last spoonful of soup, and set a tip down on the counter. I decide to head for the library next.

I had never heard of a library before one was built here just over a month ago. It's a beautiful building, marble and granite, large pillars and tall steps, but what hides on the inside is even greater. Books and books, more than you can ever imagine. And these books, they aren't just new ones written in the Capitol. There is literature from all ages, even from before the Dark Days. I have spent many days here, just browsing the wide array of knowledge.

I climb the tall stairs and feel the burst of cool air hit me from inside. It is always cold inside this building, but I kind of like it. It makes the whole place feel mysterious, like something is hiding around every corner.

I see that several children roam around, picking up picture books and examining them. I think about how lucky they are now, to be happy and full. I think back to when I was their age, and I was scraping up remains to survive. I envy their simple childhood, but I am glad that someone can enjoy it, even if it isn't me.

I decide to head for the Factual section today, full of books that explain, everything and anything. I love reading about the animals and plants here, comparing my knowledge to that of the book. I reach for a book of plants I have flipped through once before and settle into a large cushioned chair. I begin to read about herbs and their different uses when I hear the sound of shoes against the floor. I look up to find a boy, maybe even a man, tall and muscular, shaggy hair. There is a gentle limp in his step, and I suddenly realize there is something strange...

It's Peeta.

* * *

><p>I shift uncomfortably in my seat as Peeta stands in front of me, browsing up and down the shelf. It's obvious that he is looking for something, a certain book, and I want to suggest to him to just use the catalog, but it's been so long since we last spoke, I wouldn't even know where to begin.<p>

I think back, over that last year, trying to remember when I last spoke to Peeta. Of course, I see him almost every day, but that is usually when he is leaving or entering his house. I realize that it has been almost 8 months since we last spoke, when I caught him planting primroses in the garden. I know I should have given him more gratitude than I did, but ever since we returned from the war, things have been different between us.

I decide that sitting still would be my best option, simply pretending I didn't notice him. He will continue on, probably finding the book he is searching for, and will leave, without even realizing I was ever here. I've become good at blending in.

But part of me, deep down, wants him to stay. To realize I am here. To say something. Why is this? How have I gone so long without him to simply want him back again?

I fidget in my seat, unable to control myself. I focus indefinitely on a picture of some mint leaves found in the woods, trying to look busy. Suddenly, I hear him turn around, and I can feel his eyes on me. My scarred face is burning red, and I hear a light chuckle coming from Peeta. I look up to see him smiling and shaking his head.

"You don't have to act like I'm not here, Katniss." He says, walking over, book in hand. He sits down next to me, resting the book on the arm of the chair.

I look at him, his face, his eyes. I can make out a few light scars on his cheeks, but otherwise, he looks just as he did the first day I ever spoke to him. Those same blue eyes, his shaggy blonde hair, everything. Only now, he has obviously matured from a boy to a man. I wonder if he is decoding these same changes in me, my longer hair, my fuller face. We have both obviously aged, either from the stress of everything that has happened, or even just the fact that we have both grown older. It seems strange to be noticing all now.

"It's been a while," Peeta says, smiling. I nod, trying to duplicate a smile, but it forms as an odd twist in my lips that makes the entire situation worse. Luckily, Peeta seems to be focused on finding something within his book, which I can now see more clearly. Its colorful pages are lined with recipes, specifically deserts. I wonder what desert Peeta is looking for that he doesn't already know how to make.

"What are you looking for?" I ask, leaning closer towards the book. The conversation is stiff after months of absence.

"Oh, just a recipe. I'm looking to bake a cake." He says, and the pure sarcasm that laces the words is obvious. People still visit Peeta, asking him to make a cake for a events they are planning. I have seen the beautiful pastries he creates; he does not need any book to show him what to do.

He sees my doubtful expression, and just smiles.

"What are _you _looking for?" He asks, expectantly. I flip through the pages of the thick book, letting the pages blow against my face.

"Just browsing," I say, and it is true. I never really have any intentions when I come here, only interests. I usually make my way through several books before I leave, mostly Factual. I open up to a random page to find a small herb. I know I have seen it before in the woods.

"_Suspicious..._" Peeta whispers, and we both laugh. It seems odd, sitting here, having a conversation with this boy. The boy who knows me so well. The memories are painful to reflect on, so I take a large breath and sigh, almost as if to release the memories.

Suddenly, Peeta jerks his view towards me, biting his lip.

"You know what hurts the most?" He asks pressingly, rocking ever so slightly. I am surprised by his sudden burst of enthusiasm, the strange look in his eyes. He doesn't wait for me to respond, but instead continues on.

"This. Sitting here, acting like we are just old friends. We aren't, Katniss. We fought next to each other, saved each other!" By this time, several heads have turned. I know that letting him continue his rant will only cause more trouble, but I am afraid to stop him.

"What has it been, eight months? Eight months we have watched each other walking in and out every now and again? I just think...-" He cuts off, as if he isn't sure what to say. I realize that he has been clutching the arm of the chair for support; this rant of emotion isn't his fault. But then, he is shaking his head, sighing.

"I'm sorry. But I just think that we deserve more." He says, and then, leaving the book, walks away.

And I can't help feeling the same.

I feel almost numb. After so long, we suddenly meet in the library, of all places. The conversation was no longer than five minutes, but I feel as if it has been an hour. There is a certain feeling you get when you're around Peeta. Or maybe it's just me.

I quickly shove the book in my hand back into a spot on the shelf. I get an odd look from one of the library staff, but I don't care. I make my way towards the door, and back to my home.

Late afternoon has set in, and Town is busy with people as they get off work. Children run about, parents trying to herd them back in. Someone is pointing at me, whispering my name to a friend. This has come to be a normal occurrence, so I don't even notice when it happens. I am only thinking about Peeta.

When I reach my house, I fling open the door and and flop onto the empty couch. I think about Peeta, and all he has said. I think about Prim, how we used to sit here and she would braid my hair. And Finnick, sweet charming Finnick, and the joy he brought to me. I think about my broken mother.

I start to cry.

At first, its just a few sweeping tears, but it quickly turns into sobs. I think about how much Peeta and I went through just to be here, and now how we have barely spoken, except for today. My nose is running and I am hiccuping. I am a mess. My body is worn and tired, and when I finally calm down, I fall asleep, wrapped up on the couch, thinking of Peeta.


	2. Chapter Two

Several days pass after my confrontation with Peeta, and I hear nothing more from him. I try to continue on with my life, visting town, hunting, reading. But, Peeta is always on my mind. Had he planned to meet me there in the library? It's unlikely, of course, but some part of me wishes it was true, wishes that he had purposely come to find me.

Why do I feel this way? I know, I have _always_ known, that Peeta and I are more than friends. But what does that mean? Together, we have been through more than anyone, and he has helped me through it all. He has suffered so greatly, and yet, he is still the kind boy I have always known. His flaws seem minor and unimportant, considering my own.

As I ponder these things, I am trekking through the woods, bow in hand. Ever since the fence was removed, many people have started to visit the meadow, but rarely does anyone go as deep into the woods as me. Which is good, I think to myself, otherwise, most of them would scare off the game. Very few are as skilled in these woods as myself.

I am heading back into town, disappointed, having shot nothing. I hadn't bothered to set up traps, so that left me empty handed today. Before, catching nothing was not even an option. We needed food, and I had to supply it. But now, when we all have as much as we need, I can go without. For a moment, I realize that my trusted hunting partner would have shared with me, had I not caught anything. But I shake the thought before I get upset.

Most of the children are back in school, with the exception of the younger ones who have yet to begin school. The farmer's market is not as busy as it was a few days ago when I was last here, but people are still milling about, trading and selling. I debate stopping through, getting a bowl of soup, but I just want to go home. It is nearly mid-morning, and I am tired from spending half the night hunting.

As I reach the path that heads to the Victor's Village, which isn't really the Victor's Village anymore, I think about Haymitch. I haven't spoken to him in a while, and I make a mental note to go and check on him later today.

I head inside, shedding my jacket and boots on the floor and finding my way to the kitchen. I'm thirsty, so I pour myself a glass of water and gulp it down. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, and I laugh at the thought of Effie cringing at my manners the first time I ate at the Capitol. With no one here to see my poor manners now, though, it makes no difference.

I stumble up stairs and collapse on my bed, my aching back relaxing as I release a deep breath. I turn my head, looking towards the desk across the room. I haven't used it in ages; pencils strewn about and sheets of paper in an awkward stack. And, from the half opened drawer hangs a book, one I haven't seen for a long time.

I stand up and walk over to the desk pulling the book out. It's the book of plants Peeta and I worked together on before the Quell. I flip to the back, to the place where we left off. I run my fingers over the gentle sketches of ink Peeta created. How carefully he worked, making sure to complete each drawing without mistake. And he did it for me, to help me.

And suddenly, I am crying. Gentle tears running down my cheek, over my nose. I'm sniffling, flipping the pages of the book. I'm not just thinking about Peeta doing _this_ for me, I am thinking about everything he has done for me, all the way back to that rainy day with the bread.

Before the first Games, during his interview, he made me look lovable and strong. Sponsors were lining up to help me out, because of him. He saved my life in the arena. He was willing to sacrifice himself to save me. And then after the Games, when he stayed strong, for me, for the both of us, through the Quell. He was captured by the Capitol, tortured to insanity, and he still remains strong. I realize that Peeta, the kind, strong boy with the bread, is the best person I have ever known.

I collapse into the chair, laying my head on the desk, against the crinkled book pages. I am sobbing, my hair sticking to my wet face. I used to be so strong, so stable, never crying. I remember how strong I stayed before the first Games, never allowing anyone to see me cry. Now, I am just an emotional mess, broken and hastily sewn back together. I am no longer on fire, I am only ashes.

It makes me think of the bread that Peeta burnt to save me. Am I Peeta's fire, or was I? Has he allowed himself to be burnt by me in order to do what he thinks is right? And what is right? The greater good of our people, or something else?

I sit there crying for almost an hour, until I hear my stomach grumble and I realize how hungry I am. I don't feel like cooking, and I am certainly in no condition to go into Town. I need to talk to someone though.

_Haymitch._

I run my fingers through my hair, wiping under my eyes and cleaning myself up. There is no hiding my red eyes and cheeks, but Haymitch and I have seen each other through it all, so I figure he won't mind. I pull my jacket back on, slip on my boots, and head to Haymitch's house.

I don't bother knocking. I am immediately hit with the light scent of wine and something cooking, but I am not sure what it is. I tip toe into the kitchen to find Haymitch stirring something on the stove, a bottle of wine in the free hand.

"Haymitch?" I say, and he bolts around. He has a strange look in his eyes, but his expression softens when he realizes it's just me.

"Oh." He says, rolling his eyes. I sit down at the table, and after a swig of wine and a few more stirs, he sits down across from me.

"Haven't seen you around in a while. Been busy?" He asks, but I just shake my head.

"I have nothing to do. I just wander around the District, everyday." I say, expressionless. And it's true. My life has become so monotone.

"But you didn't come here to tell me that, now did you?" Haymitch asks mockingly. I am slightly disgusted by his tone, but I try to swallow my pride. I know that Haymitch is the only person I can count on right now. I am not sure what to say, but suddenly, it is all rushing out.

"Peeta has always been the best of us." I say, and Haymitch only chuckles.

"No, I'm serious. He has only ever done good for the both of us. We owe him so much."

"Of course we do. You learn to live with owing people." Haymitch says, and takes a long drink of his wine bottle. From the way he is suckling the bottle, it seems to be almost empty.

I am not sure how to respond. We differ in the idea that there is nothing I can ever do to repay him. I think there is a way, I just don't know what it is yet.

"I saw him the other day, in the library. We hadn't spoken in months, and he just..." I trail off.

"Strangled you again?" Haymitch smirks, and I shoot him dirty look. I realize I have come at the wrong time, and I don't say anything when I get up to leave. I don't want to talk to a drunk.

I suck in a deep breath of fresh air when I get outside, feeling almost as if the toxins are being released from my lungs. I hop down the steps, my stomach growling. It's nearly six o'clock, and I still haven't eaten. But, I have more important matters on my mind. I need to see Peeta.

I'm not sure how I know, but I am feeling a longing, an empty hole, something only Peeta could fill right now. Just his voice, his laugh, his smile.

My breath catches for a moment when I realize something. I feel something for Peeta. I'm not sure exactly what it is, but it is strong and fiery. Just like who I used to be.

I wander about town for a while, slowly losing my previous courage. I should not be nervous to go and see Peeta, but for some reason, I can feel the knot tying in my stomach. It's silly of course, but I feel as if there is a distance between Peeta and me that wasn't there before.

The sun is beginning to set, and I know I can't stumble around like this forever. Somehow, I find myself in the meadow, the tall grasses scraping my knees. I think about the earth beneath my feet. Thousands of bodies lay below me, lifeless and deteriorating. I think of Madge, sweet, sweet Madge, and how she did so much to help me, even when I didn't deserve her kindness. Here she lies, destroyed by the bombing I can't help but feel responsible for, along with the hundreds of other innocent citizens. Families destroyed, their memory blown away like smoke in the wind. Suddenly, I feel sick, trapped in this massive grave, and I know I need to get out of here, too.

I am running, through the streets, past homes and businesses, hearing the shouts and laughter of families enjoying their night together. My breaths become short and my chest aches, but I continue, unsure where to stop. I am struck by an odd thought.

I belong no where. At home, I only feel despair and loneliness, constantly being reminded of the family I had and then lost. The meadow, a place that used to bring peace to my mind, has become a grave yard of horrible memories and guilt. The woods only remind me of the friend I thought I had.

That's my problem. I have no friends, not real ones anyways. Gale was my only best friend, and he betrayed me, caused me more grief than I thought was possible. Haymitch is no friend; more like a mentor, oddly enough. It's strange that I am using this term now, considering that he has always been my mentor. But now, he is different. He is no longer my guide through the games, but my guide through life after.

All of my life, I have lived unwanting of companionship. Never letting anyone in, keeping to myself. I had always planned to live an uneventful life, caring for my mother and sister, hopefully growing old. But now, everything is different. There is no reason not to enjoy life, fall in love, have children. No reason to go on without friendship.

But, I am just a broken girl, scarred and selfish. No one is interested in me, at least not for my personality. And that's why I keep turning back to Peeta. He is the only one who seems to accept me for who I am, the good and the bad.

So, when I finally reach the Square, my throat burning and sweat running down my face, I know that I want Peeta back on my team. My friend, my ally.

* * *

><p>I eventually found my way back to my home, and into my bed. My body was exhausted from a night of hunting, and my long run. I slept soundly; a long, dreamless sleep.<p>

When I wake, my stiff legs are already aching. As I step out of bed, a moan escapes my lips as my tight muscles are stretched once again. I immediately head for the bathroom and begin filling the tub full of hot water. My first priority is a good soak.

I add a few dashes of scented salts to the water before I get in. My nightgown drops to the floor and I slide into the steaming water. My breath catches, it feels so good.

I can feel my tight legs relaxing as the water seems to work through the knots in my back. I want to lay here forever, when I hear a shout coming from outside. First it is just one voice, but then several more. I can't help my curiosity, and even though the water feels so good, I manage to pull myself out.

I change into a fresh pair of clothes and wrap my hair into a towel. I look out the kitchen window as I peel an egg over the sink, but of course, I can't see anything from here. I will need to walk into town to see the commotion.

After I eat, I brush through my hair and braid it down my back. I know that the water will soak into my shirt, but I don't have time for anything else.

The spring air is warm, and when I walk outside, I am hit with the light scent of primroses from the garden. I see their tiny blooms, in red and pink, and I smile.

I can hear more and more people as I get closer to the Square. I only hope that nothing bad has happened. I think back to before the Quell, when I witnessed Gale getting whipped repeatedly, and how I took a lash for him. There is still a small scar close to my ear, but it has nearly faded by now.

When I round the corner, I see that people are crowding around a large screen in the middle of the Square. There seems to be a wooden counter of some sort wrapping around the screen, and people are crowding around it, trying to get through. I can't see exactly what is on the screen, but it must be important.

As I get nearer, I stop to watch as words flash across the screen.

"_Sign up now! Your whole family has the chance to visit The Independence Day Celebration, live!"_

What? I am completely confused and I turn to my left, where I see a women I recognize from the Seam.

"What's going on?" I ask, and she looks towards me. She seems speechless for a moment, but then she shakes her head.

"The Independence Day Celebration, next month. They are celebrating each district, lots of food and music, I suppose. People are entering to go and watch. Doesn't sound like much fun to me, but I guess some of the younger ones are more interested." She says.

Of course. Most of the people here have never left District 12, apart from their brief visit to 13. Visiting the Capitol would be a dream for most, especially when you are going for a party rather than to prepare yourself for your death. They can't help but hunger for something more, even in the place that betrayed their kin again and again.

I wonder why Plutarch hasn't informed me of this yet, as I am most likely invited. To have an event without the Mockingjay would be simply unheard of.

But, just like the woman from the Seam, I am not interested.

I am standing there for a moment, watching as the rules and dates flash across the screen, when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn around, startled.

"Not thinking of signing up, are you know?" asks Peeta, and all I can do is shake my head.


	3. Chapter Three

Once, years ago, when I had only just turned thirteen, I was walking through the Hob, as usual. My friendship with Gale had only just started to blossom, so that day, I walked alone.

It was a balmy summer day, and I remember thinking that I was getting too hot in my long pants and boots. Prim had been sick with a fever for days, and my mother had been especially busy during the last few weeks. I was tired and hot and grumpy, and most of all, hungry.

I was thinking about how good a cold glass of water would taste at that moment when I felt a lump under my boot. I stopped for a moment, not quite sure what to think. I carefully stepped back, revealing the shiny surface of a small bag of coins. I picked it up out of the dirt, looking through the bag. I held more money than I had ever seen before. I couldn't believe it.

Someone had been foolish enough to drop this bag on their way through town, most likely being trampled on my unknowing citizens. It was my light step and my eager sense for thrill that made me realize what was under my boot that day. I couldn't fathom my excitement.

And that's when I felt a strange feeling, like excitement, but even greater. Things had been going so poorly lately, and this, this seemed like a miracle. Of course, once I became a more skilled hunter, I would eventually start bringing money home every evening, but at the time, it was more than I could have ever wished for.

I shoved the bag into my pocket, thinking only for a moment of turning it in. I knew that there was no one real to even submit it to, and trying would be foolish. A large smile spread across my face as I thought of how excited my mother and Prim would be when they heard of my great luck.

When I look back, I am not sure why I was so excited. Was it because I was simply overjoyed at the thought of all that money, or because of how badly things had been going in my life? I want to think that it was a combination of both, but I can't be sure. All I know is that I felt so _happy._

And that is how I feel now. Like things in my life have been foggy and uncertain, and now on this warm spring day, here he is. I have only been trying to find him.

At first, I am not sure what to say. I know it is silly to be so excited to see the person I live only a few houses down from, but I can't conceal it. Am I crazy to miss someone who's been right there the whole time? We have distanced so greatly over the past year. I am smiling, and possible even blushing, because before I can answer Peeta's question, he is laughing.

"What's so funny?" He asks, rocking on his heals, smiling. I am not sure exactly how to respond, because really, I am not laughing. I am genuinely happy to see his face.

"Nothing, not really. I guess I just feel...good today." I say, a half smile splitting up my cheek. But, he only rolls his eyes, watching the chaos in the square as people sign up for the event.

"What exactly is going on?" I ask, looking towards the sign-up area. Plutarch has most likely been trying to call me about this, but I don't even try to pick up the phone unless I am interested in making a call.

"Haven't you heard the details?" Peeta asks, in an uncanny resemblance to a Capitol citizen. I laugh, shaking my head.

"A celebration of our new found independence! A gathering of every District, brought together in the spirit of Panem!" Peeta exclaims, raising his hand in the air. Now I am really laughing, watching him perform like this. I haven't laughed like this in a long time, and I must be getting some odd looks, but I don't really mind. All I know is how good it feels.

"You've always been easy to cheer up." Peeta says, rolling his eyes, but I don't really notice. At a different time, in a different place, I might take that in the wrong way, but now, when I feel so good in the warm sunlight, I don't mind. I watch him when he turns his head away, how his jaw relaxes, how his shaggy hair falls, wondering if he ever notices anything like that about me.

We stand there for a moment, watching as children and adults alike mill about. I think to myself how much better everyone here looks now. Fuller, stronger, happier. Like real people, with a real home. I'm glad, even if it took so much to get here. Maybe one day living in District Twelve won't be so bad.

Peeta interrupts my thoughts when he gently clears his throat, and I look over at him, seeing a troubled look on his face. I'm suddenly worried, and I feel that excitement draining.

"Katniss, I'm sorry, about the other day." He says, his jaw locking.

I'm not sure how to respond. At first, I want to say that it is fine, no big deal. And really, it's what I am thinking. But then, I think about how much I owe _him_. What I talked about with Haymitch, what I have been thinking about. Peeta has never done anything wrong to me, he should not be apologizing. It is me who should be saying sorry. All of this time, he has only been doing what is right, and I stood to the side, watching.

I try to take a breath, feeling the air pass through my shaky throat.

"You don't owe me any apologies." I say, biting my lip. I close my eyes for a moment, my chin dropping under the weight of my head. I think for a second that he might have walked away, but then, I feel his warm hand under my chin, lifting my face up. I am startled at this sudden action, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. My breath catches, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"You're right," He says, nodding head ever so gently, he hand sliding to my shoulder. For a moment, I think that I might feel resent at this comment, but then he reaches for my hand with his other hand.

"I owe you _so _much more." And when he says it, I am afraid that I might start crying. I don't know why, maybe because I know its not true, or because of the guilt I feel, but all I can do is squeeze his hand. In a moment, he is slowly moving his body into mine. I am not sure exactly what is happening, but I seem to forget the world around us. I feel his steady chest rising up and down, and it is calming.

"Peeta..." I murmur, and for a second, I am afraid he might lose it. His hands begin shaking lightly, he neck tightening as he bites down. But, he squeezes my hand, and opens his eyes again.

I don't want to pull away from him, but I know that we are beginning to attract a small crowd. When he lets go, I am aching for him to come back.

He leans in for a quick second, taking in a breath.

"I miss you," He whispers, and I am afraid that now, I might really start crying. All of this emotion, hitting me now, here, it is too much for my fragile state.

When I don't respond, he quickly adds to his first statement.

"Let's go somewhere," He says, and when he grabs my hand and pulls me away, I don't resist.


	4. Chapter Four

Peeta's fingers are cupped around mine as he pulls me through the Square and through town. He keeps a quick pace, letting the spring breeze blow against my face. I can feel the gentle _thump_ of my braid against my back with each step. I don't really know where we're going, but I don't want to ruin the moment, so I stay quiet and just follow along.

I'm not sure exactly how I feel about what is happening. Everything went so quickly—one moment I was standing in the Square, minding my own business, and then the next, Peeta was telling me how much he missed me. Did something strike him that day in the library the same way it did for me? What did he realize that made him change his mind about me after so many lonely months apart?

And that is when I know that I have missed him too. Not the way I miss the creamy taste of lamb stew, or the way I miss my old home, but a longing, something strong and aching. I don't really know how I have gone this long without realizing it. I don't know exactly where Peeta and I are at, relationship-wise, but I do know that all I really want is to be with him.

Peeta must realize that I am thinking about something, because my steps have slowed and I am chewing at my lip. He looks back at me, a worried expression on his face. I just shake my head at him and attempt a smile, so he continues on. I hear someone whistle at us as we run by, but I ignore it. I'm not sure if the people of District Twelve are still lured into the act that was set up before the Games about Peeta and me, but it doesn't matter to me. I don't really care what anyone thinks of me anymore.

When we begin approaching the Meadow, I want to protest, explain why I can't be here, but I don't want to crush his spirit. We begin walking to the east, near the rising sun, farther than I ever travel while I hunt. This is even beyond the edge of the old fence. I watch as the meadow gets thinner, seeing more and more bare patches of dirt. After several minutes of walking, we reach a medium sized rock on the edge of a cliff-like structure, over looking a large span of forest. I have to admit, it's beautiful. Spurts of flowers are bursting everywhere, and the sunlight seems to be poking through in the perfect way. I sit down on the rock, Peeta next to me, admiring this new area of land.

"I come here, to clear my mind." Peeta says, taking a deep breath. He is turned away from me, so I can't see his face. I wish I could know exactly what he is thinking. What were his intentions bringing me here?

"I never really understood how you enjoyed being here so much, especially after the Games. It only made me feel..." He trails off, his lips pursing, looking for the right word.

"Trapped?" I suggest, and he nods.

"Exactly," He says as he nods. "Except then, after everything that happened, being here in a place where my old memories weren't—it's calming." He adds, and looks towards me. Here, in the sunlit forest, he seems younger, more vulnerable. More like the boy I met on the day of the Reaping.

"I don't really know why I brought you here." He admits, a half smile breaking across his face. "But, you're the only person who could understand anything I am going through. So when I saw you today..." He trails off again. I wonder if he does that a lot now, starting things that he can't finish.

I pause for a moment, not exactly sure how I want to respond to what he has told me. It's true that I have missed him too, but I not sure how I have missed him. Do I miss our friendship, or something we thought we had?

"It would be nice to talk to someone else other than Haymitch and his geese." I say with a smile, and Peeta chuckles. I like seeing him smile like this, with me. I look down to see his hand resting dangerously close to mine. I start wondering just what exactly his intentions are.

"Luckily, they seem pretty self sufficient." Peeta adds, and I am laughing too. It's strange how easily I can be myself around Peeta. And not the bottled up, shy version of myself, but the one that is carefree and happy. I am starting to enjoy it, too.

We sit for a few minutes, our laughter hanging in the air. Being with Peeta is so natural, almost like what I used to have with Gale. This is different, though. I cared about Gale dearly, but Peeta has experienced things with me that no one can ever imagine or mimic. I don't worry about him not understanding something. He already knows.

"So, what were you researching in the library the other day? Plants, was it?" Peeta asks, interrupting my thoughts. I pause for a moment, thinking back to that day.

"Oh yeah. I guess I just like comparing my knowledge to the books. I don't know, it interests me, somehow." I answer. "What were _you _doing there?" I add, because I am truly suspicious. He bites his lip for a moment, and I watch as his cheeks fade to a shade of pink.

"Well, I didn't want to say anything...but I only went in after I saw you go in first." He says, looking down in embarrassment. Somehow, it reminds me of the time during his first interview before the Games, when he blushed as he told Caesar of his complicated love life. It seems that both of these occasions also involve me.

"It's funny how someone you care about can make you do the craziest things." Peeta says, and now, I am the one blushing. He must realize it, too.

"I'm sorry, I guess I tend to say what is on my mind. Just another side effect, I guess." He says with a sigh, and then I feel bad, too. That's the only fault in our relationship: our painful past.

When I am silent for a moment, I can feel Peeta's eyes on me, his hand resting so closely to mine. I don't know what I want to say to him. How can I just let him burst into my life like this? Have I not forgotten our rocky past during our time in 13? I know it is wrong to blame him for that, but the things he said to me there still hurt, even if they weren't intentional.

"It;s not your fault, Peeta. And I don't blame you for saying that." Suddenly, words are spilling out of me, an unstoppable wave emotion.

"Because, I miss you too. No one undertstands what I have been through except you. I miss everyone. I miss Prim, and Finnick, and I miss my mother." I can feel tears building up, and I try to hold them back at first, but soon, they are unstoppable.

"They're gone, Peeta! Gone! You're the only person I have left." I say, my throat tightening as a tear drips down my cheek. I'm not sure what I am expecting him to say, or do, but when he reaches towards me and squeezes my hand, I allow it. I lean my head into his shoulder, letting my tears drain out. His hand eventually slides into mine, and my breathes fall into an even beat with his, like a puzzle clicking together.

When I have drained every last tear, my eyes feel heavy, even though it can't be later than lunchtime. I'm hungry and achy and tired, and I am not looking forward to the trek home. I feel myself starting to fall asleep, right here on Peeta's shoulder. I want to stop, to tell myself how childish it is to make him sit here listening to me cry just to fall asleep on him. But, at the moment, all I want to do is stay here with him.

Eventually, I fall asleep. When I wake again, I am back home, laying in my bed. I am confused at first, not sure how I got here. Then, I remember. How I fell asleep on Peeta's shoulder, sobbing like a child. I feel embarrassed of what has happened, especially because he must have carried me home eventually, which makes it so much worse.

I am almost ready to start crying again- partly from embarrassment and partly because I am so broken that tears come and go at the strangest times- but then, I see a small folded paper on the table next to my bed.

_If I am all that you have left, _

_I hope to make our time together count. _

_Don't apologize for what happened _

_today. I will gladly carry you home again any day._

My eyes scan over the note again and again, tracing the shape of each letter and how it forms with the next. I can see what the words read, but I can't seem to comprehend them. Things seem fuzzy, like my brain isn't putting something together. But, deep down, I know exactly what the note says, I just don't want to admit it to myself. Is it that I don't want to accept that Peeta might have feelings for me, or because I might feel something back? I throw the note back down on the bedside table, and let my head fall into my hands.

When I glance out the window, I see that I have not only slept through the rest of the day, but through the night as well. I'm not sure how I managed to sleep for so long, but after taking one step out of bed, I become so dizzy with hunger that I have to sit back down to regain my balance. It's been almost two days since my last full meal, and my body is feeling the effects. It takes me several minutes to inch my way downstairs, where I guzzle down almost half a loaf of bread. I tell myself to slow down, in hopes that it won't make its way back up.

After I eat, I take a shower, scrubbing all the traces of the woods away. Once I am clean, I change into a simple shirt and shorts. Taking advantage of the warm weather, I slip on a pair of simple leather sandals, left here with all the rest of the clothes Cinna had sent to my home. I don't touch most of it; dresses and skirts and high heels, but some things, like these shoes, do come in handy.

It's odd, getting ready like this. I complete these actions everyday; eating, showering, getting ready, but today, I feel different. Is it because of Peeta? It seems like just with spending a short time with him, he has already reopened a healing wound. Has he taken the pain away, or has he only resurfaced old memories?

But, despite my unanswered and lingering questions, there is still some part of me that wants to be with Peeta. Spending time with him, it just seems so natural, like breathing. Not even in a romantic sense, just his smile, his voice, his _presence_, is enough.

Today, though, I know I need to go talk to Haymitch. I am not sure exactly what Plutarch has planned with his Independence Day idea, but I have a funny feeling that he is going to want me involved.

The warm breeze blows through my hair as I step outside and hop down the porch steps. I think for a moment that Haymitch might still be asleep, sleeping off a hangover, but then I remember that the train will be coming in just a few days, meaning that he probably ran out of liquor during the last few days. Which is good, because I don't have any particular longing to spend time with a drunk.

I rap my knuckle on the door a few times, although I don't really expect him to answer. So, when the door slowly creaks open, I am almost startled. Haymitch peaks out, his eyes squinted at the bright light. He lets out a grunt, rolling his eyes and motioning me to come in.

"What can I help you with, sweetheart?" He asks sarcastically as I step in. Surprisingly, the only scent in the air is something baking in the oven, maybe bread. I scan the kitchen, examining the empty bottles thrown about. I pull out a chair at the table, careful not to step on the mysterious liquid under my feet.

"Well, I mainly came to ask what you know about this festival being planned. I assume Plutarch has something to do with it." Haymitch lets out a bark of laughter.

"Of course he does! Without having to design his little arenas anymore, he has to find something to do with his time!" Haymitch exclaims, his shaggy hair falling in his face. I crinkle my nose, almost wanting to say something in Plutarch's defense. Although there are reasons to want to dislike, he really did so much during the war, I feel bad blaming him. But, I stop myself, thinking that even though Plutarch has helped us in the past, Haymitch is entitled to a few stabs.

"What is it?" I ask, "I mean, he is just going to ship a few lucky people out to the Capital, just like that? What is the point of this whole thing?"

"Well, as far as_ I _know, he plans on some sort of ceremony, all sorts of guest speakers." He says, and then gives me a knowing nod.

"_Me_?" I ask, my eyes widening. I knew that Plutarch was expecting me to show up, but I had no plans of making some sort of guest appearance.

"What would the celebration be without the face of the Rebels? Did you really think you could snake your way out of this one?" He asks, and even though I want to be angry, I know he is right.

I sit there for a moment, partially mad at Plutarch, and partially mad at myself. I know that really, I don't have to go to this. I am no longer a Capital slave. But, I also know that I owe it to the people of Panem. While I hid out in District 13 for most of the war, they rebelled, some giving up their lives even. I may have been the face of the war, but they were the arms and legs, the strength.

"I have to go." I say, half asking and half stating. Haymitch just nods his head.

"When is this all happening? Just a few weeks, isn't it? I know I should talk to Plutarch." I say.

"Didn't you hear?" Haymitch asks. "Effie is coming just next week, taking us early. Apparently there is business to attend to."

"_What?_" I exclaiming, leaning forward.

"Oh, don't worry. Peeta will be there too." He says with a smirk. When he sees the look on my face he looks away, obviously realizing there is something there he didn't know about.

"When is she coming?" I ask. I had not even realized that I would really see Effie again. Apparently we're stuck for life.

"Six days, if I remember right. Hasn't anyone told you about this?" He asks, but I just shake my head.

"Are we the only three going?" I ask.

"Well, besides those contest winners, I'd guess." When I hear this, I let out a groan. Going back to the Capital, celebrating like this, I'm not sure if I can handle it. I hold so many horrible and broken memories there, I don't think I can bear it. I've stayed here for so many months, carefully stitching myself back together. Like the sun, I am slowly making my way across the sky after so much time of darkness. It has taken so much strength to finally rise again, making _my _decent through the sky. This, going back there, will be my dark skies.

Sitting there in Haymitch's kitchen, I am hit by a thought. Here I am, shattered and broken, barely able to move on. But then, I think of Peeta. Of all the times I have treated him badly, or watched him make sacrifices for me. But truthfully, he should be the broken one. All of his family is gone, without him ever able to say goodbye. I may have lost my sister and my father, but at least I know that I still have family out there somewhere, always only a phone call away. And then, during the war, how much he sacrificed to keep us safe. How he warned us before the bombing and then forced himself to recover afterward. Peeta should be the broken one, the never-rising sun. But here he is, shining brightly, still the best of us, like he always has been.

I immediately get up, running out of Haymitch's kitchen without even saying goodbye. I run down the steps, wiping my eyes as I go. I run down the path, towards Peeta's house. When I reach his door, I bang on it, not stopping until I he answers. For all I know, he might not even be home. But, I am not giving up. When I hear footsteps, getting louder with each step, I halt. When he opens the door, I don't even wait for him to say hello.

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaim, grabbing his arm, partly for support. "Everything you have ever done for me, sacrificed for me. I'm sorry. During the Quell, I let you go, I left you alone, and you got taken! _Taken_ _away,_ to the Capital!" I am yelling at him, squeezing his arm, and I can feel the tears burning in my eyes.

"I am selfish, I have always been selfish. I was only ever worried about surviving, but _you, _you did_ more!" _I can feel the sobs wracking through me, and without any notice, I shove myself into Peeta, wrapping my arms around him as tightly as I can. I don't know what I expect him to do, but when he rests his hands on my back, it's comforting.

I eventually sit myself down on the top step of his porch, and he does the same, twisting a piece of grass in his fingers. I wipe my red eyes, embarrassed of my emotional break down. Peeta assures me that it's fine, but I'm not so sure.

"You're going to the Capital, too?" I ask, although I already know the answer.

"Of course I am. No escaping that one, is there?" He asks, and I just shake my head.

"I don't think I can go back there." I say. I am biting my lip again, thinking about what the future might hold.

"I used to think that, too." He says, "But then I realized that it isn't the city that holds the memories. It's the people who caused the destruction."

I sit there, thinking about that for a while, not sure if I really agree with him. Isn't it more than the people? Isn't it the streets and the buildings? Even without Snow or Coin or even Gale being there, won't it still be unbearable?

"Next week then?" Peeta asks, and I snap out of my thoughts.

"Oh, uh, yeah. In six days, I think." Peeta just nods his head at this.

"I don't even know why I came here." I say with a half smile, and Peeta just laughs.

"You came here for the same reason I finally came to find you the other day." He says, and I look up at him questioningly.

"Because it hurts too bad to stay away."

And even though he's right, I don't say so, not because I don't agree, but because I don't want to ruin what we have, or even what's to come.


	5. Chapter Five

Over the next few days, sleep comes in restless spurts, haunted by nightmares of mutts and bombs and the people I have lost. Going back there, it's all I can think about, and it's driving me to madness. Several times I almost decide to go talk to Peeta about it, but I stop myself, not wanting him to see me in such a pitiful state. Again.

On the day before Effie is scheduled to show up, I can't even eat. I try to tell myself to calm down, but it's impossible. Getting back on that train, being back in that city, it will be unbearable. Thinking about it makes me feel sick. Everything that I lost there seems to be hanging above my head. I begin to wonder how Haymitch did it, year after year. Watching a new pair of children fight each year, knowing that their lives were in his hands, it seems unbearable. I also begin to understand why he has relied so heavily on alcohol all these years. It dulls the pain that only gets worse.

I find myself pacing back and forth all day, up the stairs, through the kitchen, around the living room. With nothing to bring with me, except maybe a few garments of clothes, I have very little packing to attend to.

Since eating is practically useless, I try sipping on a glass of water. I remember before the Games, how I always felt this same way. Too nervous to eat, unable to sleep. Except even then, I had someone always waiting with me. Here, _now_, I am alone in my own fear. Being awake is torture, thinking of everything waiting for me there, but sleeping only brings a new set of nightmares. But, once the sun starts to set, I finally decide on sleep, because I would rather revisit a memory than fantasize about the uncertain future.

My dreams are full of trains, whizzing by, taking away everyone I have ever loved. I am stuck, unable to move away from where I stand, but close enough to recognize each person as they are dragged into the train. From their mutilated screams, I know that whatever fate waits at the train's destination can't be pleasant. I wake with the screech of train wheels still ringing in my ears. But, what I think to be a train whistle is actually the hiss of the wind outside, whizzing past window.

But, it isn't the wind that wakes me. I can hear the sound of gentle clicking across the room, and then, hushed whispers. I am still for a moment, trying to decipher the quiet chatter.

"_Oh, now you've woken her_!" Someone hisses.

"_Would you be quiet?"_

"_Shh, _both_ of you!"_A third voice whispers, and by now, I am almost sure of who is waiting there.

I gently role over, casually stretching my arms out and yawning. I pull myself into a sitting position, looking towards the door.

"_Katniss_!" My prep team squeals, and before I can say anything, I am enveloped in hugs and engulfed in the heavy scent of flowery perfumes.

I look out to window to see that the sun hasn't even risen yet. I can't be sure exactly what time it is, but by the look of it, too early, especially after my restless night.

"When did you get here?" I ask, trying to sound enthusiastic.

"Oh, just a few minutes ago!" Flavius chirps, "But we just had to come and see you first!"

"Aren't you just thrilled?" Octavia gushes, slapping her long fingers on my wrist. I look down to see she has a brightly colored pattern splattered across her finger nails, making my ragged ones look almost pitiful.

"It seems too early to be thrilled." I mumble, but they just laugh and shake their heads.

"We have so much work to do, we have to start early." Flavius says, and Venia nods her head in agreement. They babble on for a few minutes about hair and nails and dresses, and it makes me think of Cinna. He always knew how to calm me when I became overwhelmed or worried, where as these three are only making it worse.

"What exactly is the occasion?" I ask, and they all send me blank stares.

"The photoshoot!" They all squawk, sending me nervous smiles. A photoshoot? What are they talking about? I knew I was going to have to get on the train, but I didn't know it would be an occasion like this. When I don't respond, they continue.

"Plutarch gave us special orders for a photo shoot. You and Peeta, it will be quite a hit." Venia says, and smiles.

"Don't forget that boy, the contest winner." Flavius says knowingly. He nods his head towards Venia, who also nods in agreement. His orange hair bobs on his head. Even if the Capital has changed as much as everyone has made it out to be, the style, it seems, is still as abstract as ever.

"Oh yes! He _is_ a sly little thing. Only sixteen, but a handsome young man. He'll make a great addition." Octavia says, and this time, they all nod.

"Who is he?" I ask, and they look back to me, as if they almost forgot I was even there.

"Roman, isn't it?" Octavia asks, and Flavius confirms. "Dark hair, and tall. He doesn't have any family to bring with him, so it's just him"

My mind races when I hear the name, because I am sure that it sounds familiar. Being a few years younger than me, I may have only run into him once or twice back in school. Without a family, it must mean he lost them in the bombing.

Eventually, I stop asking questions. They go on and on about the photo shoot, and the schedule for the day. After they polish me up, along with Peeta and this new boy, Roman, they'll photograph us around the train, in the Meadow, in front of the new factory. By lunch, we'll be finished up and packed on the train. Gone, just like that.

I am still in a partial shock as they lead me to the bathroom, scrubbing me up and down, plucking here and there, salvaging my nails and hair. It seems so strange that after all this time, here they are, my prep team, preparing me just like old times. I wince as they wax my legs, ripping up every last hair. By eight, my stomach is growling and my skin is sore, so I insist on a break to eat. I wrap up in a fluffy robe and walk down to the kitchen. Food has been laid out on the counters, and I pick up a muffin and a glass of orange juice. I slowly, mostly to avoid any further beautification. But, Venia eventually bobs down the stairs looking for me and pulls me back.

They poke at my hair for a while, which has grown down my back. They eventually set it into large curlers while they work on my makeup. Although no one has the same touch like Cinna, when complete, I look transformed.

"A sunset..." I gasp, opening and closing my eyes in front of the mirror. Right under my eyebrow, blacks and blues are swirled together, covered in tiny white dots. But, it slowly fades into blue and then finally red, orange, and pink. My eyes look like little sunsets, sparkling and bright. When they let my hair down, they sculpt the curls around my face to complement the make up. My lips are painted a pale coral, finishing the look.

I am stunned at how amazing it looks. I want to dislike, pout, refuse, but it is too beautiful to deny. I continue opening and closing my eyes, watching as the stars seem to twinkle.

"It just seemed like...Cinna." Octavia says, squeezing my hand. "And wait 'til you see the dress!" She squeaks.

I am careful to walk down the stairs not to ruin the curls. I see several garment bags hanging in the living room, but Flavius only reaches for one.

"We weren't sure exactly what we were going to do, but now, it's obvious that we chose the right look." He says, handing me the dress. He unzips the bag, and pulls out the dress. He tells me to close my eyes, and Venia and Octavia help me take off the robe and step into the it. It is light, like silk, but close fitting and short. From what I can feel, it doesn't even reach halfway down my thigh.

They lead me to the mirror, inching me across the hall. They count to three and then order me to open my eyes. When I do, I am amazed.

I am the sun. The material seems to glint against the light, forcing anyone to look my way. Shades of orange and yellow, overlapping themselves to make the perfect sunset. I can't take my eyes away.

"He left this design, for you." Venia says, and I can hear her sniffling. Flavius wipes a tear from his eye and takes a deep breath. We all stand there for a while, just admiring the dress. I turn back and forth, watching as the lights acts like beams as I move. Although the it is strapless, it fits perfectly. It was made for me.

"Here, add the shoes." Someone says, and I slip into some bright red heels. I am wobbly at first, but after a few minutes of practice, I get the hang of it, only tripping once or twice.

"Perfect." Someone murmurs, and I nod. As much as I am dreading this, I can't help but feel hopeful, for Cinna.

"Look at the time!" Octavia squeals, and soon the moment is lost. Everything is a buzz again, moving quickly.

I am forced out of the door and towards the path to Town. Even from afar, I can see that several people are waiting there, most likely for us. Before we get there, though, Effie waddles up to me.

"Oh, Katniss!" She gasps, and pecks me on the cheek. It seems odd, but I suppose that after everything we have all been through, I don't mind. She motions for me to twirl, and when I do, she lets out a gentle moan.

"You look gorgeous." She says, placing her hand on her hip. I see that her hair has changed from it's bright pink to a deep purple, with her lips and eyes matching. She is hopping around on dangerously high heels, but I don't doubt that she can handle them.

"Well, let's go!" She chirps, "We're already running late!"

All five of us walk the rest of the way to the group standing in a jumbled circle. The first person I notice is Peeta, who has also already been dressed. He wears a black suit and a white shirt, but tie that closely resembles my dress. His scars have been covered, and his hair formed into a neat scruff. I have to admit, he looks handsome. He looks _whole._

Haymitch stands next to him, arms crossed. When I walk up, both of their mouths fall slightly open. Haymitch looks stunned.

"Katniss..." Peeta murmurs, shaking his head. He takes in a breath, and for a moment, I think he might not like the ensemble. But, I am reassured.

"You look-" Haymitch starts, but Peeta cuts him off.

"Beautiful. She looks beautiful." He says, running his fingers through his hair. He just stands there, staring, and everything gets quiet. Everyone starts chuckling, and Haymitch murmurs something about not wearing out his eyes. Peeta's cheeks are turning a dark shade of red, and he puts on a nervous smile.

"Well, I can't blame him." Effie says, "She does look stunning." Everyone gives a nod of agreement, and now I am blushing, too.\ I mumble a thank you to everyone and look down. I notice another pair of feet, and look up to find a boy, no older than seventeen, standing amidst us. His dark hair is falling in his eyes, and his orange shirt is falling untucked. He gives me a half smile when I look towards him, but I give him a look of confusion.

"This is Roman, the contest winner." Effie says, and I hold out my hand. He shakes it, saying hello. I just nod. I am not sure why he upsets me so much, but there is something about him. Is it his youth that reminds me of Prim, or more even, how closely he resembles Gale? His dark hair, his tall frame, his quirky smile. I release his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before I let go.

"So, now that we are all here and properly introduced, let's review the schedule." Effie says, pulling a paper up off of her clip board. My stomach growls, and I realize that it is almost lunch time. I try to silence it and listen to Effie.

"We're walking in, through the Square, leading to the stage. Peeta has agreed to make a quick speech, wrapping things up. We'll say hello, take a few pictures, and be out before you know it." She scribbles something else down on the paper, and then sticks the pen back in. Haymitch describes the path to me, where I am sitting, and how I should walk out. Soon enough, we all have it down.

"Now, this is like the opening ceremony for the people of District 12, and we want to make a good impression. In the days leading up to the Independence Day Celebration, we hope to inflict them with happy memories. Let's make it an event they won't forget!" Effie says cheerfully, and we all nod. I look towards Roman, who is twisting his fingers together. He seems so young next to Peeta, who reminds me more and more of a man every time I see him.

Soon enough, we are getting in order, making final checks on hair and outfits, making last minute adjustments. When Effie and Haymitch give us the signal, we walk into the Square, letting the sound of the crowd hit us.

Almost the entire District has gathered, packed into the Square for the ceremony. People wave and shout hello, and we do the same. It's different than the Capital, where people are falling over each other just to get a glance. Here, they have more dignity. Even if our citizens are impressed, they carry themselves with pride, sending just a smile or a nod in our direction. When we make it to the stage, I am seated next to Roman, and Peeta steps up to the podium. He starts off by saying how thrilled he is to see so many people here, working his words into the perfect order.

And just like that, it's like he is back in an interview. The words are his clay, and he is molding it however he likes. He makes the audience laugh, and he makes them remember. Within a few minutes, it seems like everyone is smiling.

He starts talking about Effie, and the work everyone has put in to make this happen. How great the celebration will be, a time to remember the pain we have suffered, and also to be thankful for the happiness we have now.

He ends his it with a tribute to all of the Districts, and receives a stand ovation. All three of us stand, Roman, Peeta and I, cameras flashing. After a few minutes of this, we are ushered off the stage and into the former Justice Building, which now serves as a court house. Peeta is congratulated, Roman and I as well. After a few more pictures here and there, Effie sends us towards a car and directs us in.

When we reach the train station, the reality is finally hitting me. We are going back again, just this time, I know I can keep Peeta by my side.

And when we step on, I reach for his hand. Not for the cameras, or for any show, but because it is the only way I know. With him.


	6. Chapter Six

The crisp, cool air of the train blows against my face as Peeta and I wind our way through the train. No one needs to show us where to go; we find our compartments on our own. I feel a little guilty for leaving Roman behind, unsure of where to go, but the thought is overcome by a thousand more: fear, anger, sadness, and I forget my guilt.

When we reach my door, Peeta lets my hand slide out of his. For a while, he just stands there, looking down on my face. But, I insist that he goes, clean himself up, gets something to eat. When I shut the heavy door to my room, I already feel so alone.

I almost hate to wash away the glimmering sunsets on my eyes, but, I eventually scrub my face clean. Red and orange bubbles swirl in the drain, popping ever so lightly. Once every trace of the make up is gone, I slip out of my dress and into a simple outfit laid on my bed. I decide to leave my hair down, in curls, because it is easier than trying to comb through it.

As I am laying the dress carefully on the bed, a loud and furious knocking interrupts me. I flinch, unsure of who might wait on the other side. I slowly slide the lock open and open the door.

Peeta waits in the hall, eyes wide and breathing heavily. Just minutes ago I left him, seeming fine, but now, he is shaking uncontrollably.

"Peeta!" I exclaim, reaching for his arm. But, he pulls away, tearing at his newly changed t-shirt. Sweat beads are forming on his forehead, and his shaking hands grip tighter at the shirt's fabric.

"We're going back to the Capital..." He grunts, shaking his head. I stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. His blonde hair is falling into his face, and he looks towards me, bewildered.

"Real or not real, Katniss?_ Real or not real?_" He is shouting at me, and I jump back, startled.

"Real!" I stammer, pushing my hair from my eyes. I'm scared for him, scared that I might break down too, scared that he isn't who he used to be.

"No.." He moans, rubbing his eyes. His staggered breathing is slowly becoming more even, but his whole body is still shaking. He grasps the frame of the door for support, staring at the floor.

"For the games?" He murmurs.

"Not real. We're safe this time, Peeta." When I say his name, his eyes dart, making contact with mine. He holds his watch for a while, and I just stare back, looking into his deep blue eyes. Even now, there is something about his eyes that will never change. It's achingly similar to the same way he looked at me on that very first Reaping Day, when his name was regretfully drawn. Scared and broken, he took his place on stage with me. And now, it is like we are back on stage now, reaped from our homes and brought back to our nightmarish past.

The afternoon sun is shining through my compartment's window, landing against Peeta's face. His long eyelashes glint in the light, and his scars seem unapparent. He is slowly calming down, his grip lightening on the door. When he finally releases his hand, a disgusted look has come across his face. He steps back, shaking his head.

"I'm like a monster," He mumbles furiously. He takes in a deep and shaky breath, and then slams his palm into the wall, the sound vibrating through the room.

"Uncontrolable, unpredictible; I'm some kind of animal!" He shouts in disgust, raising his hands in the air in surrender.

"No, Peeta," I say, reaching out, but he just turns away, stalking down the hall and into his room. I sigh in confusion, unsure of what has happened, but afraid to replay the events in my mind. Watching him struggle once was enough.

I sit down on my bed as my head throbs. I am tired, and hungry. I know that we won't be called to dinner for another hour or two, but I also know that sitting here, stuffed into this compartment, will only make things worse. I'm pacing for a while, up and down the room. With each step, my feet sink into the thick, plush carpet. After a few minutes of closely inspecting the softness of the carpet, I realize that I need to get out before I topple over the edge.

I slowly open the door, craning my head out. I slip into the hall, walking barefoot through the corridor. I pass slowly by Peeta's door, tempted to stop, but I am afraid that now, I will only make things worse. I keep walking down the hall, opposite of the entrance and dining area. But, after walking past only twenty or so more doors, the hallway comes to a halt. I sigh and go to turn back when I hear a door opening. I cock my head around, listening. Heavy footsteps hit the floor with a soft _clunk. _I spin around gently to find Roman stalking down the hall.

"Roman," I call down the hall, and he stops mid-step. He turns to look, sending me an odd glance. I jog towards him, breathlessly meeting him down the hall.

"Katniss?" He says, bewildered. It must seem strange to him, encountering me here, and even, the fact that I found _him_. I see that he has changed as well, wearing clothes similar to Peeta's. Except, they fit loosely on his thin but tall frame. Although he must be several years younger than me, he is exceptionally taller than I am.

"You...uh...found your compartment, then?" I stammer, although the answer is obvious.

"Yeah, Effie showed me the way. Not much room to get lost." He answers with a smile, holding his hands in his pockets. I feel guilty for a second, thinking again that I should have helped him find his way, but it's too late now, so I let the thought pass.

"Are you...excited?" I ask hesitantly, because I am not sure how to phrase my sentence. Roman stands there for a while, thinking. He lets out a big sigh.

"I thought I was," He admits, rocking gently on his heels.

"And now?"

"I'm not so sure." He says, shaking his head. I watch as his eyes dart around, as if he is thinking. It is so achingly similar to the way Gale used to think, his dark eyes just the same. I'm not sure whether I feel sadness, or regret, or both.

"It's just that...I wish I had someone to share it with." He nods his head towards me as he says it, looking at me expectantly. I realize that he is referring to Peeta. I'm not sure how he means it, but I can feel my cheeks burning red.

"I just wanted to say that," He stops for a moment, looking for the right words. "That if I was you, I wouldn't let something like that slip away."

The reality of his words are sinking in, and I'm not sure how I feel. I know that he must be alone, without a family, but what is he referring to? He surely realizes that what we had before, what he saw on the television, is not what it seems. Something tells me that Roman is not the kind of person who is easily fooled. And if that's true, his words mean something deeper than what they seem.

I want to answer, to say something, but I'm speechless. I just stand there, mouth half open.

"He needs you." Roman says, looking towards me, and then down the hall. "Today, before we walked through the Square, before _you_ got there, he told me. He cares about. I mean, he _really _cares about you. But I don't think he can do this on his own." He says in powerfully, in a way that I can't deny his words. I barely know this boy, but so far, he has proven strong than the lot of us. He turns to walk away before I can say anything more, leaving his words hanging heavily in the air. And without thinking, I turn away too.

It's almost as if I am back in the Games. This announcement, it has changed the way the game is played. I can only fathom one word.

"_Peeta..._"

I am running to his room, turning the knob. Luckily, it's unlocked. I force my way in, finding Peeta sitting on the bed, his head resting in his hands. He jumps up when I enter, puzzled. I rush to him, grabbing his hand and wrapping it in mine. I reach my head up, just high enough to reach his face, and plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly. I'm not even sure what I am apologizing for, but I needed to say it. It was drastic, running in here, kissing him, making a fool of myself. But, Roman was right. Peeta can't do this on his own, and neither can I.

* * *

><p><strong>Short, I know, but enjoy. Lots more to come.<strong>


	7. Chapter Seven

I am sitting on the edge of Peeta's bed, watching as the landscape outside rushes by. After my bursting into his room, I felt embarrassed and childish, but Roman was right. I need Peeta's friendship now more than ever, and I think he knows it. As fragile as we both are, we need each other's support to stay strong.

Peeta is leaning against the wall, tapping his fingers on his leg. We both agreed that we couldn't do this on our own. Whatever the distance between us amounts to seems to slowly be fading away.

"I just think—I'm afraid that going back to the Capitol will only make it worse." I say, and he turns towards me.

"Will make what worse?" he asks.

"My life." I say, managing a half smile. He laughs, but I can see that he understands. With the light hitting his face, highlighting each feature, it's obvious to see how tired he is. It's likely that the dark circles under his eyes were covered for the ceremony back in 12, but now, face clean, there is no hiding it. When he lets out a long yawn, my suspicions are only confirmed.

"You're tired," I say, looking at him expectantly.

"I don't sleep well these days," he pauses, and then adds, "Do any of us?" I sigh, shaking my head. The nightmares, I know, will never be gone. The arena has been permanently tattooed into my broken mind, as well as Peeta's. I can only imagine the fragments of torn memories that haunt Peeta each night. Not only does he have to deal with the horror's of the arena, but the altered thoughts as well. Constantly fighting off what's real and not, dreams or real life, must be pure torture.

We sit in silence for a while, Peeta's eyes drooping. I'm tracing the outline of his jaw against the sunlight. His blue eyes seem to act as the focal point of his face, drawing the attention of anyone who glances at him. They remind me so dearly of Prim that I eventually have to look away out of pain. My eyes run down his cheek and to the floor, but then, I am hit with an odd thought.

"Why didn't anyone grow a beard in the arena?" I say suddenly, but I realize how silly it sounds. He jolts up, looking at me oddly.

"What?" He asks, laughing. I can feel my cheeks turning pink.

"In the arena," I say sheepishly, "No one ever grew facial hair or anything."

"Would you have preferred I grew some sort of elegant mustache?" Peeta asks with a smile, and I start laughing.

"I wouldn't have minded." I reply, and he starts laughing too. Maybe it's the moment, or the fact that we are both a little crazy, but our laughter, it makes me feel so good. My life has become so mundane; laughter is nice, especially when someone is there to share it with.

When we both calm down, I look up at him expectantly.

"You really want to know, don't you?" He asks, shaking his head in happy disbelief. I nod, smiling again.

"Truthfully, I'm not really sure." He says, shrugging.

"Oh, come on. Don't you remember it at _all_?"

"Well, I know they would put this gel all over my face, and I thought that it felt really warm and tingly." He says. And maybe that's it. I remember that too, now, thinking back. They spread it nearly everywhere on my, my legs, my arms, trying to keep the hair away. It makes sense that they would use it on the boys as well.

"Hm..." I hum, and I run my fingers through my curled hair. My stomach grumbles, and Peeta laughs when he hears it.

"Is it supper time already?" He asks, and I smile. I really am hungry, ready to scarf down whatever cuisine they set in front of me. I hope that they come for us soon, telling us that dinner is ready. I don't want to seem to eager, though, so I just chuckle lightly.

"You've met Roman, then?" Peeta asks, interrupting my daydreams of soup and potatoes and bread. I think back to the hallway, and my eyes dart back and forth.

"Oh, uh, yes. In the hall, I talked to him for a while." I say hesitantly, but I can tell that Peeta senses something strange. He's sending me a suspicious look, and an air of awkwardness is hanging above our heads.

"He seems nice, I guess." I say, trying to fill the empty spaces. Peeta nods, but he's still looking towards me.

"He's young," Peeta says, "But he's bright. I don't think we'll have to worry about him falling behind." I wonder what he means by this. Fall behind? During the Ceremonies, maybe? But, something tells me that isn't it. I think that Roman knows more than one might realize.

I sigh, stretching out my arms. Peeta sighs too, and his shaggy blonde hair blows up and then falls again against his forehead.

"This is nice," Peeta says, grinning.

"Hmm?" I ask, cocking my head sidewides.

"Just talking with you, nothing staged or anything. Just here, two..." He slows for a moment, and then adds "...friends."

I'm not sure what he is implying, or if I should be worried. But, I don't want to ruin the moment, because he's right. It is nice to finally have time with someone normally.

When we are finally called to supper, Effie walks in on us unexpectedly, causing both her and myself to blush. Peeta just laughs, jokingly assuring that had he wanted to make a move, it wouldn't be here in this small train compartment. We all laugh nervously, and then make our way down to the dining room.

A small buffet of rolls and soups has been spread out, and Peeta and I don't hesitate to grab a bowl. I start with a potato soup and a large, warm roll. I sit down at the table, and Peeta slides in next to me.

We have both already begun to eat when Roman walks in, followed by Haymitch. I catch Roman's eye just for the quickest moment, and he gives me the slightest nod, unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't really watching the way I am. I turn my head quickly and continue slurping at my soup.

Haymitch and Roman sit across from us, passing salt and pepper and pouring drinks. Effie stands at the end of the table, her hands crossed at her waist. As soon as everyone has made themselves comfortable, she clears her throat, forcing our attention's toward her.

"Now, seeing that we won't be arriving until tomorrow morning, I don't see any point in holding off plans any further. We have so much to do during the next week, I don't even know where to being!" She chirps, her hair bobbing as talks.

"She's right," Haymitch says gruffly, clearing his throat. "And before we step off this train tomorrow, we need to decide where we stand."

"Yes, of course." Effie says, "As you know, even now after everything, impressions are still being made. We are here to represent District 12 as best as we are able, and we hope to do so accordingly." Her words sound ever-so familiar to the way she spoke to us before the Games, about representing our District and bring pride back home. It makes me feel a little sick, being here, hearing that, and I set down my half-eaten roll, unable to eat any more.

"And what does that mean?" Peeta asks as he crosses his hands. I can see that he too is doubting her words.

"All it means," Haymitch pauses, taking a swig of liquor, "is that we are going to try our best to stay sane, at least for the cameras. No acting, no lies."

"What Haymitch means to say is that no one will be controlling your actions. You aren't trying to gain sponsors or fans any longer. We are only representing the District, however we choose to do so." Effie adds.

"And how do we mean to do so?" I ask, looking back and forth between Haymitch and Effie.

"That's what we're here for now." Says Effie, and she pulls out a clip board from her bag resting against the table. She clicks a bright purple pen, and scribbles down a few notes, then looks back to us expectantly.

"Well, first, you all know Roman." Effie says, directing towards him. He looks up, pursing his lips. "You three will be the main focus point of District 12, so I figure we need to come up with some sort of plan. How will we present ourselves?"

The room is silent, except for the occasional scrape of a fork coming from Haymitch. He doesn't even seem to be paying attention. If Effie is considering playing the romance card again, it is not possible. The last thing I need right now is a fake romance getting in the way of the broken friendship we already have.

"Oh, now, come on! Someone must have something!" Effie exclaims, tapping her long purple nails against the table. Again, silence.

But then, Roman looks up, clearing his throat.

"The sunsets," He says, and Effie leans in. "The theme that we used back home, people liked it." I'm surprised that he is even speaking up, although it's not the first time he has made is voice relevant.

"Ah, yes. The crowd simply loved the idea of the sunset. Maybe we could spin off of that, don't you think?" We all numbly nod, and then Peeta speaks up.

"As if the sun is setting on our day of war, moving on to a better time."

"Oh, I like it!" Effie says, and she is frantically scribbling things down on her notepad. I remain quiet, not quite ready to speak my opinion yet, although truthfully, I loved the idea of the sunset. What it represented, not just for the District, but for me.

Peeta, Haymitch, and Effie shoot ideas back and forth for a while, with the occasional idea from Roman as well. But, I just sit there, rolling my spoon around in my soup. After a little while, Effie informs us that the train will be stopping soon, most likely to pick up goods. We're going to break, she says, and meet back up in half an hour. I rush out as soon as I can, leaving the hectic chatter behind.

I can feel the train slowly coming to a stop as I walk down the hall towards my compartment. When I sit down on my bed, I already feel compacted and closed in by my walls. I'm pacing, up and down the room, and soon, I have to burst free. I'm running, back down the hall, through the dining room, to the door. I am trying to open the door, fumbling with the handle. It finally slides open, and I step forward, ready for the cool spring air to hit me. But, all I feel is the embrace of a hand around my arm, pulling my back.

"Trying to escape?" Peeta says, a quirky smile on his lips. I am taken back, surprised for a moment as his hands lock around my arm.

"You scared me," I say, shaking my head. Why is he not letting me out?

"You know, Effie gave us strict orders not to leave the train." Peeta says, and I groan, going to turn around. I was really hoping to finally get some air, but obviously, that's not happening now. But, when I step away, Peeta speaks up.

"Katniss," He says, and I turn back toward him. "You don't think I'm actually going to listen to that, do you?" He asks, motioning for me to come with him. He slides the door back open, pulling me outside with him. We both jump to the ground, our feet hitting with a gentle _thunk _against the grass beneath us. I look around, the evening light falling behind the trees that surround us. I can see a small stream running down hill only about twenty feet away, sprouting trees and grasses outline it's edge. I am itching to dip my feet in the water, just once, to feel the woods around me, to get a sense of home. Peeta sees my eyes tracing the stream, and smiles. He slips his boots off, and then his socks, revealing one bare foot and one wired metal one. I do the same, and we both run to the stream.

The minute my feet hit the water, a chill runs up my spine. It's not just the cold water, but something more. This sense of familiarity, here with Peeta, almost like I'm home again. Even though we are miles from home, I feel more calm now than I have in ages. I try to forget about the train, the Capitol, anything, letting just this moment fill my thoughts and senses.

"The sunset," Peeta murmurs, gazing towards the west. He is shaking his head in awe.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Do you remember when I told you that this color," He motions towards the sun, "was my favorite?" He asks. I nod, thinking back to that day. I had also told him that my favorite color was green, and I smile.

"And how no matter how hard I try, I could never capture it in a painting?" I nod again, and so does he.

"Well, today, when you showed up to the Square in that dress, I could only think of two things." He says.

"And what were they?" I ask as I rub my toes over a smooth river rock.

"How closely you reminded me of that setting sun, vibrant and bright, and then, how beautiful you looked." He admits, his blue eyes gazing into mine. My chest feels heavy, and I am not sure how to respond. He steps towards me, the tip of his toes just barely rubbing against mine. His strong and tall figure hovers over me, and I look up to him. The sun is shining through us, warming my back, hitting against his face. His hands reach for mine, and I don't resist. I know that it's not right, I can feel it, but something is telling me otherwise. It's that feeling, the same one I felt in the cave, and then on the beach, that hunger deep in the pit of me, a wanting that can't be satisfied. He is leaning in, his face inching closer to mine, and my eyes can just barely trace the shape of his jaw. His body his pressed against mine, and, if he leans any closer, his lips will be too. His hand slides around my neck, and I am just waiting for the warm embrace of his lips.

"I don't know what's going on over there, but this train is about to leave without you two," Haymitch shouts, his head hanging from the door. I instantly pull away, but my fingers linger in Peeta's hand. His arm slides away from my neck and down my back, and I can feel my cheeks burning.

"Katniss..." He says, but my face is burning so brightly I don't even look toward him. We are both running back, and we grab our socks and shoes as Haymitch lends his hand to pull us back in the train. He's chuckling and shaking his head, and I just want to disapear. When Peeta steps back on, he follows me down the hallway. He stops when I reach my door, lingering, looking over me.

"I don't..." I mumble, but I can't finish. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it's no use. Peeta gently brushes my hand, but he is shaking lightly.

"Later," He says, "Come later." I nod, letting my hand fall, and he nods too. He turns away, heading for his room. I shut the door to my compartment, slumping against the bed, my head spinning. And although a thousand thoughts are swirling in my head, I can pick out one dominant idea.

I wish he would have kissed me.


	8. Chapter Eight

We're all back in the dining room, table cleared and heavy heads rested in hands. Although it has just begun to get dark, you can sense the tiredness in the room. The day seems to be crashing down on me, and most of all, what happened by the stream. It's not what he said, or even what he did, it's knowing that deep down, I wanted it. I wanted to kiss him as badly has he wanted to kiss me. I again felt that deep hunger inside, that undeniable feeling of longing. And even now, it lingers.

Peeta is sitting across from me now, next to Roman. Haymitch has moved next to me, but he is slumped over on the table, possibly asleep. Effie seems to be the only person in the room that doesn't seem miserably tired. Even Roman sits slouched over in his chair, fiddling with the button on his sleeve. I have completely tuned out Effie's constant stream of words, and now, I sit thinking. About Peeta, about the Games, about the Capitol. Too many thoughts smudge together in my mind, and I can't think clearly.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. Effie continues talking, so I assume that she doesn't notice. I try to focus on the simplest of actions, starting with breathing. I begin closely monitoring each breath, making sure each is even and filling. I have almost perfected my breathing when Effie says my name.

I look up, confused. I instantly feel guilty for not listening more closely, and now embarrassed for not knowing what she has asked of me.

"What?" I say, sounding confused.

"The entrance, one at a time, or together?" She asks pressingly, and my mind reels. I realize that I have only two options: simply admitting that I have not been listening at all, or go along with one answer and wing it as best as I can. I know right away that the second option is almost completely ruled out, considering my poor skills in the word mastery department. I know I have to admit that I haven't been paying attention.

"I have no idea." I say, biting my lip. My face is burning red once again, and I look to the floor out of shame.

"What do you mean? Have you been listening at _all_?" She looks to me for an answer, and I just shrug. She purses her lips and her nose scrunches up.

"Has _anyone_?" She asks ever-so lightly, as to not explode in anger. Roman and Peeta shift in their seats, and I hit Haymitch against the leg under the table. He shoots up, confused. Effie sighs, and then slaps her hands against the table.

"Of course," She says, and then flips back a few pages in her notebook. "Let's just start from the top." And this time, I decide to listen.

Effie explains that tomorrow, when we arrive in the Capitol, we will immediately be greeted by welcoming citizens. We will meet up with all of the visitors from other Districts in a building she calls The Arch, for the Welcoming Ball. Something about the occasion stinks with the aroma of evening wear, and my suspicions are confirmed when Effie gushes about the gown that was pulled for me for that night.

Through the next few days, we will spend our time preparing and practicing for the live ceremonies, where we will be working on our speeches. I gulp when I hear this, because public speaking, especially broadcast for the entire country, has never been my strong suit. But, Effie assures me that with enough practice, everything will work out. I'm not so sure.

When Effie finally releases us from our meeting, everyone stumbles to their compartments, half asleep. Haymitch and Roman enter their rooms first, leaving Peeta and me alone in the hallway. He reaches his door, leaning against the frame. I walk up next to him, leaning my body against the wall.

He opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. He seems to be deciding exactly what to say. I stand there, waiting, but nothing comes out. So, he just tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear, and I let him, because the action is so natural. It reminds me of the first Games, when I laid in the cave with the gash in my head, and I finally let Peeta take care of_ me_. Now, even when things are different, it feels the same.

"Go to bed," He murmurs, and I nod. I am tired, and I know that he is too. He leans over and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, sending shivers down my whole body. He squeezes my hand, and I turn for my room.

I take a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away traces of the day. It seems like ages ago we were leaving District 12, or even when I talked to Roman in the hall. The only thing that remains prominent in this day though, is not the fact that we boarded a train back to the city that haunts me almost every night, but the interactions with Peeta. His words back in his compartment, the almost-kiss, and then, what has just happened. My heart speeds up at the thought of it all, as I try to decode how I really feel.

I step out of the shower, wrapping up in a towel. I rest my head in the same machine I used before the first Games, letting the zap of electricity run down my hair, leaving it silky and curled. I slip on some cotton shorts and a silk shirt. I slide under the soft covers of my perfectly made bed, and within a few minutes, I drift into a long and dreamless sleep.

"Oh Katniss, the last one, I promise!" I tighten my fist and clench my teeth as Octavia rips another wax strip off of my legs. I'm laying on a softly padded bed in a large compartment towards the back of the train. My prep team is doing a deep clean today, waxing, scrubbing, plucking. My skin is tight and sore, and when they finally release me to take a break before lunch, all I want to do is lay down.

Because I was told to eat breakfast in my room to save time for the makeover process, I haven't seen Peeta or Haymitch all day. I assume that they are going through something similar, but, seeing that they will be allowed to keep most of their natural leg hair, the process will probably be shorter. And less painful.

When I'm finally prepared in a simple dress and skirt and completely prepped, with just enough makeup to hide the fading scars that blemish my face, Effie comes in to inform us that we will be arriving in just a few minutes. My stomach flips upside down as the reality of the situation hits me. I suddenly feel sick, and Effie is practically forcing me down the hall. I'm asking for Peeta, for Haymitch, but she just tells me to calm down.

I panting and sweating, my long hair sticking to the back of my neck. People rush around, trying to prepare for the unloading in the Capitol. All I can do and reach for the wall to keep myself from falling over. I just want to see Peeta, to hear his voice, but oddly, he still hasn't shown up.

I'm asking everyone, _anyone _that passes me, but everyone just shakes their head. No one has seen Peeta, or Haymitch. Eventually Roman wanders up, but I just shake him off. It's not him I'm worried about.

I can see the approaching skyline from the window I'm leaning against, and the time just keeps ticking on without Peeta. I know logically that there is no way that we will leave this train without him, but now, logics don't seem to matter. I need someone I trust here, now.

My heart flips inside of my chest when I see Haymitch stomping down the hall, his hands clasped around Peeta. Haymitch is practically dragging him down the hall, and I suddenly feel much, much worse. From the way Peeta is shaking and sweating, I know that something is wrong. He's shouting and thrashing, and although Haymitch is trying to contain him, Peeta is breaking free.

"Get...off!" He shouts, reaching for Haymitch's gripped hands. He pulls him towards me, and then throws him down in the chair next to the window. He's kicking, but now that he is pinned in the chair, Peeta's efforts are useless against Haymitch's constraint. I back up, afraid that I will just make things worse.

Peeta is panting and shaking, slapping his hands against the arms of the chair. Together, the three of us, must look completely insane. And, we might as well add Roman to the group as well, because he is now sitting down on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, chewing on his lip. When Effie walks in to find Haymitch tackling Peeta, Roman practically in fetal position, and then me, sweat soaked and shaking, she screeches and the clip board she is holding slips from her fingers.

"_What_ is going on here?" She asks perplexed, her mouth turned into a permanent frown. The room falls silent, except for the grunts of a struggling Peeta. He seems to be in an odd state now, where he is almost fighting against himself. I remember back in 13, when Johanna came back to our compartment telling me that after I had left the meal, Peeta had engaged into an argument with himself. This must be what is happening now, except, I'm not sure anyone knows how to calm him down. We will be pulling into the station in a matter of minutes, and no one here is any where near presentable.

"Our boy here," Haymitch grunts, "can't quite get a grip." Peeta reaches his arm up to try to shove Haymitch away, but he deflects it and holds him down harder.

"Well, obviously!" Effie exclaims, pursing her lips. "What do we do?" She asks, looking back and forth to Haymitch and me. No one is sure what to say, but I know that something has to be done. I shoot up, forcing myself over to Peeta and Haymitch. I don't know what I'm doing; the plans are being made as I go.

"Keep him down," I murmur to Haymitch, and he carefully nods. Peeta doesn't seem to notice as he yells at himself. Haymitch warns me to watch out, that if I heard the things he was shouting before, I might not want to get so close. But, I ignore this. I crouch down in front of him.

"Peeta," I say, but he doesn't notice. I tell myself to swallow my fears, because now, Peeta needs help more than anyone.

"Peeta, look at me." I state firmly, and I rest my hand on top of his, squeezing it gently. His eyes dart around, and then settle on me. He is panting and sniffling, and I can see that he was, at some point, crying. I can tell he is fighting to stay alert.

"I'll hurt you?" I ask commandingly, because he knows what answer I am looking for.

"Not...not..." He's fighting over each breath, trying to force the words out. "Not...real!" He finally manages, but from the way he seems to be struggling, the words seem almost painful. I can hear Effie saying something about only a few minutes in the background, but I don't pay attention. I need to pull Peeta back.

"That's right. Not real. I'm not going to hurt, no one is going to hurt you. Don't let them make you think that way, Peeta." My voice is breaking as I speak, because as hard as I am trying to stay strong, this is breaking me down. I can't watch him in pain like this without feeling a horrible mixture of guilt and anger.

As I say this to him, I watch as his pupils slowly shrink back to the normal size. He breathing slows and eventually, Haymitch doesn't have to hold him down any more. He is still shaking slightly, but the improvement, even then, is signifigant.

When he finally stands up, a grim expression is painted on his face. Effie is hobbling about, trying to get everyone in order. Haymitch adjusts his tie and shirt, and Venia runs over to him to adjust his hair. I help Roman up, and we all shuffle to the window. We are approaching the tunnel that leads to the station, and I gulp.

We're set in place, so that Peeta and I will walk out together, and then Haymitch and Roman after us. When I look to Peeta, he just stands motionless, his jaw locked in frustration. I think about saying something, but right now, I can barely speak. When a voice over the speakers informs us that we will be stopping in just under a minute, my stomach knots up. The room is silent except for Effie's light humming as she gathers her things together. I can feel the train slowing, and out of desperation, I reach for Peeta's hand. Although he doesn't pull away, I don't feel the familiar squeeze of his hand either.

When we finally screech to a stop, the sound of chattering people is heard from outside. From the door, I can see their brightly colored hair and bizarre outfits, and when they spot us, they all start shouting and pointing with glee. The doors slide open, and Effie shouts to step out.

Peeta hops out first, and then gracefully pulls me down. We are engulfed in smiling people, waving and shouting to us. I force on a smile, and I realize Peeta has as well. Even now in his fragile state, he still knows how to work the crowd.

The four of us are directed through the crowd and into a car, where everyone takes a deep breath. Effie explains that we will soon be dropped off at the Citizen's Resort. Everyone sends her a puzzling look, and she just laughs.

"Oh, well, I forgot! It's the old Training Center, where you stayed before the Games! You'll feel right at home!" A smile spreads across her face as she sends us a piece of news that she hopes to be relieving, but you can tell from the way that the expressions drop that everyone only feels worse.

I feel really sick now, and although Effie suggests we open a window to cool down, I decline, knowing that seeing the city and all of it's horrors will do me no good.

After a few minutes of driving, we arrive at the old Training Center. Peeta and I cling to each other, being numbly directed through the doors and into the elevator. Although Roman seems incredibly intrigued, Peeta, Haymitch, and I just stand there quietly. I'm still holding Peeta's hand, because without it, I might fall over.

When the elevator opens again, Effie is the first to step into our old quarters. It is so achingly similar to when we left it, I feel dizzy. All the memories here are flooding back, and I crash into the sofa by the window. Peeta sits in the chair across from me, his head twitching back and forth every few minutes. Haymitch is pulling through the cupboard looking for a drink, and Roman has already disappeared to the direction Effie pointed him towards when he asked for his room.

Haymitch hobbles over with a drink in hand, and he sits down in the third chair. We all sit here, swimming in our own thoughts. Effie finally realizes to just leave us alone until we are whole enough to continue on, so we finally have some real silence. I just want to sit here, in this sweet silence, for as long as my mind will allow it. But, of course, time keeps moving on, the sun keeps setting, whether I'm aware of it or not.


	9. Chapter Nine

**It has been way too long, and I'm sorry. I guess I just went through this phase where I was unsatisfied with the story, and it took a while to regain motivation. But, the new chapter is up now, and I hope you enjoy it! Please follow me on my Hunger Games Instagram, tributes4life. Let me know if you came from here and I will give you a shout out. Anyway, enjoy the story and watch out for new edited pictures on Instagram.**

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><p>Effie, dressed in a bright pink dress, is hopping from person to person, making sure everyone looks their best. She pulls Haymitch's bow tie tightly and then gives him a pat on the cheek. A grimace coats his face, and I smile. Everyone is already growing tired of Effie's demanding spirit.<p>

She twists one of my curls around her finger and sets it back on my shoulder gently. She pulls the straps of my long purple gown together and reminds me to stand more straightly. I pull my back tight, waiting for her approval, but I slump back into a slouch as she turns away. She steps up to Peeta, who is dressed a a suit identical to Haymitch's, and fixes his tie as well. We are all decked in purple wear tonight, my dress, their ties, Effie's hair. Roman's matching us as well, but he has been lead off into a special area for the contest winners. It's just us four, now, and we stand hesitantly in the hall, waiting for the signal to enter.

Tonight is for welcoming. The tributes, the mentors, everyone. Gathered in this building tonight is everyone who, although Effie skirted around the idea, deserves an apology. For what they've done, or what's been done to them. We all know that a simple ceremony will never fill the empty gaps of what we've lost because of the Capitol, but to them, it's a start.

I recognize the buidling; it's the same place the party was held after our first Games. Where Plutarch first showed me his Mockingjay. It seems odd now to think of it, back in a time when I was stronger, _braver. _It is just another reminder that I am no longer the Mockingjay, the girl on fire. Just ashes.

A man walks up to Effie and murmurs the_ Okay _to enter. Effie flails about, making last minute adjustments and getting everyone in order. Haymitch stands in front of us, looking rather uncomfortable in his fitted suit, whereas Peeta, who stands next to me, looks the opposite. His shaggy blonde hair has been groomed, and his scars covered. He looks strong and lean in his evening attire, almost like brand new.

_Almost._

Although no one directs us to, Peeta encloses my hand in his. Even if things between us are rocky at best, I still need his strength tonight. Just like he needs mine.

I can hear the music and voices hushing behind the doors, and someone begins introducing us. Before I know it, the doors are opening and Haymitch steps out. He is met with applause and cheers, and then he is lead off the stage . I look towards Effie, and she gives me a thumbs-up. Peeta steps forwad, pulling me with him, as our names our announced.

At first, there is nothing. The room has fallen silent. The lights of the stage are blinding, so I can only see the black silhouettes of the people in the audience. I'm afraid that they're angry, for the things we've done in our pasts, for what we stood for. And it's true. So many innocent people died for my cause, for me. I don't know why I expected any sort of thankfulness from these people, these leftover fragments of the war. I look to Peeta, my eyes begging for a solution to this conundrum. Here we are, stuck on this stage like heroes, when all we really are is broken, just like them.

"Peeta..." I murmur, and I squeeze his hand. He looks over to me, his blue eyes finally meeting my gaze. I'm look for answers, for something. Time seems to move like a slug, dragging on. I want to run off the stage, to be free of this. Peeta leans closer, so that his lips are inches from my ear.

"I'm sorry," He says, his whispers echoing in my mind. I'm confused, and I want to look to him for answers. But, as I do, he's turning towards me, and he rests his hand on my cheek. In an instant, he pulls me in, kissing me.

Everything fades away. The crowd, the lights, the eerie silence. It is no more. It is just me, and Peeta, the boy with the bread.

_The boy with the bread_. His warmth, his body, everything. I wrap my arms around his neck, standing on my toes to reach him. His other arm slides around my waste, and before I know it, he has completely picked me up. I am floating, here with Peeta, and for the first time since I returned home so many months ago, I feel good again.

When he finally sets me down, for just a moment I turn my head to the crowd, slowly drifting back to reality. I'm not sure what I expect to see now, anger, confusion? But it's neither. One by one, every member of the crowd is raising three fingers to their lips, and then into the air. These are no Capitol citizens, pampered and unaware. These are people, just like me, like Peeta. I was wrong. It is not anger or hatred that they felt before. It was sympathy, for two young and shattered souls. It's evident now. Peeta just smiles, and, although his hand remains around my waist, we both bring our hand to our lips and then into the air as well.

And then, they cheer. Ear-shattering, ground-shaking shouts and applause. Peeta and I are both smiling, waving, and, eventually, kissing. I don't know what he is really feeling, or what _I _am really feeling, but now, all I know is that it feels right.

Haymitch finally comes to force us off of the stage, playfully shoving us down the stairs. It reminds me of our interview together after the Games, when Caesar couldn't pull us apart, and Haymitch did the same. Then, I felt a lot like I feel now. Happy, but confused. It's obvious that something is still lit between us, but what?

There is no time to think about these matters now, though. I'm shaking hands and smiling for pictures, listening to stories of the past and hopes of the future. I'm told more times than I can count that I am so brave, or courageous, or strong. And, although I am growing tired of the pinching heels my prep team forced me into, I generally enjoy listening to the people's stories. These are not the silly stories of dresses and ribbons I so often heard from my prep team, but tales of loss and sadness. Peeta stays by my side, squeezing my hand when things get tough. I want to pull him away to talk to him about everything that has happened, but I never get a moment alone.

After more than an hour of pictures, Haymitch, Peeta and I head to the long tables of food. There are thirteen tables, each with a hand-written number at their base.

"From each District," Peeta notes, and I nod. Each table is laced with traditional foods from the thirteen Districts. Seafood from Four, of course, a plethora of homegrown fruits and vegetables from Eleven, all sorts of cheeses from Ten. Guests are floating around, some at their own District table, others sampling from all. When we make our way to District 12's table, no one is quite sure what to expect.

"Coal muffins?" Peeta suggests, smiling. Haymitch waves him off.

"Not any more," Haymitch says, "More like antibiotic pie." He adds, reminding us of the new medical factory being built.

But, we find neither. The table is covered in soups of every sort, most of which I recognize from the Hob. On the other end of the table lays several types of traditional breads, all of which seem to be fresh from the oven.

Peeta picks up a roll, feeling it in his hand. A few straggling seeds fall from the roll onto the table, and he brushes them away. An odd look crosses his face, and he clenches the table for support. I back away, afraid that my presence will only worsen things. I watch him there, squeezing the roll in his fingers until he finally lets go. He drops the ruined roll to the floor, and looks up.

"Let's go somewhere else," He mumbles, reaching for my hand. We browse One and Two while Haymitch fills up at the drink table. I pile my plate with bread and fruit and a roasted steak from Five. I don't even notice the hand reach over mind until they speak up.

"Oh, I'm sorry," She says, "Are you too famous to be seen with me?" I look up to find Johanna Mason slopping a mound of mashed potatoes onto her plate. A quirky smile covers her round face, and her once short hair now brushes her chin. I look to Peeta, who's smiling.

"And hello to you, too Peeta." She says, reaching her hand out. Peeta sets his plate down on the table and shakes her hand, making sure not to let go of mine.

"How're you doing?" Peeta asks, picking his plate back up.

"Oh, just fine." She says as she pours a river of gravy onto her mashed potatoes. "And how about you?" She says, and when Peeta doesn't answer, I realize she's talking to me. I bite my lip, not sure what to say. I know that in these months since I've been home, I should have contacted her. Written her, called her, _something, _but I didn't. After she failed her test back in Thirteen and I was shipped to the Capitol, I hadn't really given her another thought. I'm paying for it now, though, in guilt and embarrassment.

"Just fine," I say, mimicking her answer. She squints her eyes at me, shaking her head. There's a silence as we three stand there, listening to the chatter of all the guests.

"You're welcome to sit with us." Peeta suggests, but she just shakes her head.

"That's alright," She says, "I've got a seat of my own already. Besides," She adds, "I wouldn't want to interrupt you two lovebirds." She adds a wink, and then slinks away.

Peeta is laughing, but my cheeks are burning red in embarrassment. I look around for Haymitch, and find him already seated at a table across the room. I pull Peeta that way, carefully balancing my full plate. We sit down next to Haymitch, who is sipping a glass of wine. I don't hesitate to start eating, because even though I don't say it, I'm starving.

"Making friends already?" Haymitch asks, but I just shake my head.

"Revisiting old ones," I say.

"I wonder how she's doing." Peeta says.

"Well, you saw her. She seemed her same old self." I add, but Peeta shakes his head.

"I mean here, in the Capitol again. When we were in there together, she always told me she would never come back unless it was to get revenge." Peeta gets a glassy look in his eyes as he ponders this memory. I look to Haymitch for help, who is conveniently rolling the peas on his plate around, avoiding my gaze. I'm not sure what to say, afraid that something small could set him off. So, I just nod.

"It's okay," Peeta says, "I'm alright." I nod again, but I'm not fully convinced. I take another bite of steak, and then squeeze his hand. He leans toward me, putting his lips by my ear.

"Come with me," He says, and stands, pulling me up with him. I look to Haymitch again, but he just shrugs. I decide to follow, hoping that it will be okay.

He leads me out the door we came in, past all the guests dressed in suits and gowns. I recognize some, from Thirteen, from the Games, but others are unfarmiliar. We just brush past them, though, into the hall. He leads me up a dark staircase, and I'm afraid of what might lay at the top. He pulls me to the left, reaching for something in the darkness.

"Do you trust me?" He whispers, and at first, I don't answer. Of course I trust him. I trust _Peeta. _But, is he still Peeta when he changes? Is he Peeta now? I don't know what to say, but, for his sake, I say yes.

"Good," He says, "Because I promise this will be okay." He wiggles open a door handle, and then holding my hand, guides me through the door way.

Inside lays a wonder I have never imagined. The entire room, floor to ceiling, is glass. Made of panels, each one is a different color. Red, blue, green, everything. Lights from the city are shining in through the glass, making the room an orb of color. My mouth hangs open in amazement, and Peeta pulls me forward.

I look to my feet, and see that the city lies below us. Cars are driving by, people scattered about. My stomach drops at the height, and I feel as if we could break through.

"It's safe," He assures me, but I cling to his arm anyway. I step forward, pressing my hand to the glass. It seems impossible, this room, this night. I realize now is the chance to talk to him about what has happened. And I'm not going to waste this opportunity.

"How did you know about this?" I ask, trying to ease my way in. I don't want to ruin it.

"President Snow brought me here, before they locked me up. He wanted to persuade me, to switch over, but I wouldn't. I can't really remember anything after they put me in that cell with Johanna, once they started with the hijacking. But, the whole time I kept thinking about two things."

"What are they?" I ask.

"This room, and you. I kept thinking that if I ever got out, I would showthis to you. That it was too beautiful to keehi hidden away." He says, and he turns towards me. My cheeks are burning red, and I know I have to ask what I was thinking.

"Listen, Peeta..." I start, but he cuts me off. He leans in, and kisses me. And this isn't the kiss like before on the stage, this is different, _more. _My brain is screaming to pull away, to force some answers out of him, but something else, something deeper, is holding on. It's that hunger, like I felt on the beach, my the stream a few days ago, except, it's greater. Nothing is stopping me, not my past, not my present, not anything. I pull away for a second, looking into his eyes, his longing, blue eyes, and I know that I've surrendered. I don't know why I'm kissing him, or what I feel for him, but I know that I can't resist.

This time, I lean in, forcing my lips into his. He wraps his arms around my waist, and pushes me against the wall. My back is pressed against the cool glass, and a shiver runs up my spine. I kick off my shoes and let him pick me up, leaning against his chest.

He explores my mouth, our lips never ceasing to touch. I'm gasping for air, but somehow, I don't want air. I don't want to stop. I just want him.

I know it's too soon, too wrong, but I can't help it. I have held myself away from him for so long, trying to swallow the guilt I feel. But now, he's here, and I'm here, and we're both shattered. And right now, in this beautiful glass room, I just want him to piece me together again.


	10. Chapter Ten

"Katniss..." Peeta murmurs, but I cut him off with my lips, pressing them into his. This is the first time I have truly kissed someone, but it comes so naturally, especially here with Peeta, it doesn't seem strange at all. His hand slides down my back, and he presses me against the door. I wrap my hands tightly around his neck, my fingers roaming through his hair. When I finally release him, he leans back a little, too.

"I've waited so long to do that," Peeta says with a smile, his hand pressed against the door above my head. His other hand slides into mine, and I give him one more quick peck.

"Haymitch will be wondering..." I start to say, and Peeta shakes his head with a chuckle. I step forward from the door, glancing around the city again, watching as the light bends through the glass.

"It's beautiful." I say again, and Peeta nods. "I just can't do it by myself."

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"It's just...the last time I was here, I was ready to kill myself." I say, "I can't be here alone."

He bites his lip, and then looks at me with his brows furrowed. "I can't either," He says shakily, "And you know that. I can barely handle myself, let alone someone else. You think you can't do it, but I know you can. You are so much stronger than I am. You heard everyone tonight, how they look up to you. I'm not saying I won't be here with you, I just mean that if I wasn't, you'd be okay." He chokes out the last sentence, and I'm afraid that it means more than it seems. I'm not as strong as he thinks, as everyone thinks, but now, seeing how fragile he is, I just want to agree.

"Okay," I manage, but I can feel the tightening of my throat. I don't really know why; maybe it's Peeta, or this place, or the people I've lost here. But, I'm not about to let him see me cry again. I swallow and take a deep breath.

I watch him for a while, as his eyes gaze through the windows. I wish I could stay here with him, for as long as we could, getting to know him again. Learning the little things that we should know about each other, remembering the one's we already know. After kissing him like that, I'm not sure what we are to each other, but the least we could do is become friends. How could we not, after everything we have been through as a team?

I'm thinking of these things when Peeta interrupts my thoughts. I look towards him, the colors of the glass landing on his smooth face.

"You kissed me in the cave. Real or not real?" He asks, and I can see the frustration on his face. When he says this, a hurt feeling immediately spreads through me. Does he really not remember that? All those times we kissed for the cameras, for food, even the times we kissed just because we wanted to. I suddenly feel angry, not at Peeta, but at the monsters that did this to him. That took away his memories of us.

"Real," I say reluctantly, trying to make my words sound steadier. "Do you not remember it?" I ask, because even though it might upset him, I need to know.

"Katniss, I know that I kissed you in that cave, I remember." He says, and I feel relieved as he does, but then, he continues.

"I asked if _you_ kissed_ me._" He says, and my head turns sideways. A smile spreads across my face, because I can't help it.

"Real," I say, and I lean in one last time, feeling his warmth against my lips, letting him know that it's true. Once we both finally pull away, he smiles too.

"We should get back," I say, and Peeta just nods. I take his hand, and this time, I lead him. I carefully open the door, and lead him into the dark hall way. We fly down the stairs and slip back into the ball room, hoping to have left and come back unnoticed.

Everyone has gathered to the center floor, holding champagne glasses in hand and mingling about. I look to the stage to find Plutarch, dapper as ever, nervously chatting with an older man beside him. I immediately look away, though, remembering all of his missed calls and letters. We carefully slink back over to Haymitch, who is talking to Effie. When they see us, Effie's face immediately lights up, but something tells me she isn't happy.

"And there they are now," Haymitch says, slapping Peeta on the back. "Trying to run away, sweetheart?" He whispers in my ear, and the smell of stale wine and liquor fills my nostrils. I push him away, and he stumbles toward the drink table.

"Where have you been?" Effie exclaims, her plump pink lips pursing. "And look at you!" She hurries over to Peeta, clawing through is wild hair, trying to make it sit flat again. I turn away, feeling my cheeks burning, afraid that she will know. But, she if she does know, she doesn't say anything about it.

"We were exploring." I say weakly, and she just sends us a look that let's us both know that it's okay, at least this time. I mean, we are adults now, even if Effie still wants to treat us like children.

Haymitch stumbles back over, fresh drink in hand. Effie sighs when she sees it. He starts mumbling something about '_showing up'_, but no one can quite decode is garbled speech.

"Has she seen him?" Haymitch says to Effie, and then points to me. Effie tells hims to hush up and behave, but he keeps saying it.

"Who?" I ask, "Have I seen who?"

"No one," Effie says and then grabs Peeta and me by the shoulders and leads us both to the desert table, where a large cake sits. It's taller than me, covered in thick purple icing. I am beginning to realize the reoccurring theme of purple tonight, our outfits, the decorations, the cake, even Plutarch wears a large purple top hat. But, more important matters trouble my mind.

"What did he mean?" I turn to Peeta as he reaches for a slice of cake. "Haymitch, I mean."

"Who knows, he's drunk. It's probably just the alcohol talking." Peeta says, shrugging. But I can't help feeling that there is something more to Haymtich's words.

I don't get any cake, partially because I'm still full of the meal I ate earlier, and also because Haymitch's words are worrying me. I'm not sure why, but I can't shake the feeling. Horrible images of President Snow and dying Boggs and even Finnick flash through my mind. Peeta reminds me not to worry, but I can't. Being here in the Capitol, it's making me sick.

"I'm sorry, let's just sit down." I say, and we stroll back to our table. I'm glad to see that Haymitch is no where to be found, because seeing him again will only worry me more.

Peeta is sitting next to me, nibbling on his piece of cake. His face crumples when he tastes it, and he pushes it away.

"It's like viewing another artist's work." I say laughing, and he looks up.

"Not quite up to my standards." He says with a smile, and offers me a bite. I shake my head, knowing that the sugary frosting will only make me feel worse.

Peeta stands to go get something to drink, and I offer to come along. I'm not ready to be alone, at least not here with all these people. We walk to the drink table, where we both just ask for a glass of water. They hand us two tall, thin crystal glasses full of ice cold water.

As we turn to sit back down, Peeta taps my arms and motions towards a table across the room. I see Johanna, who is scarfing down a piece of cake, and I wonder why Peeta has made a point of showing me this. But then, I realize that isn't who he's pointing to. Sitting next to Johanna in a long silver dress is Annie, with a small, plump baby in her arms. I stop mid-step, in shock. I grasp Peeta for support, because it's not Annie who is suprising me. It's the baby.

"Finnick..." Peeta says, and he's right. The baby in her arms is a spitting image of Finnick Odair. He is giggling and squirming in Annie's arms, but her expression is blank. I am taken back, not able to process this.

"She was _pregnant._" I gasp, and I have to set the glass back on the table in fear that it might slip from my fingers. Reality is hitting me. Annie was pregnant when Finnick died, and now, that baby will grow up never knowing the funny, charming, and extremely brave man his father really was.

"Oh..." Peeta says, and I can't stop the tears that start dripping from my eyes. I let Peeta hold me while I let the tears flow, and I can feel Peeta's shaking body against my own. I have to look away, from Annie and her sadness, from Finnick's tiny son, from it all. It is too much, and I am faltering over the edge.

"Do you think that's what Haymitch meant?" I ask shakily, and Peeta shakes his head.

"I don't know, maybe." Peeta says, and he runs his fingers through my curled hair. The sorrow of Finnick's death is greater now than ever before. He lived his whole life as a lie, forced by the Capitol to work as a slave to them. And when he was finally free, to happiness, to Annie, it slipped through his fingers like sand. And now, his shadow lurks in his son's face, and I can't bear it.

"No..." I groan into Peeta's shirt, and I can feel his hand slide to my shoulder, squeezing it gently. Now, I need to escape. In every time I have wanted to run away from the pain, this is the worst of all. This retched place, filled with the haunted memories of my past, has locked me in with it's manacles of fear and torture. I should be glad; I was never truly captured the way Peeta or Johanna were, but in a way, they captured me differently. They captured my mind, my life, the hope I had left. And now, seeing Finnick's son now, I just want to scream, at anyone, _everyone, _whoever had a part in Finnick's death. How could they take him away like that? From his poor, delusional Annie, and their unborn son? I feel sick with anger and confusion, and I am tugging at Peeta to let me free of all of it.

"Please," I whisper to him, looking up. He looks back at me with a pained expression, his jaw tightly flexed. He nods, and reaches for my hand. He pulls me towards the door, but stops a few feet ahead.

"We can't get there alone, I'll have to tell Effie." He says, and scans the room for her. I spot her chatting with a group of women, and Peeta leads me over to her. It's obvious I have been crying, with my red eyes and Peeta's damp shirt, and Effie just looks at us in shock.

"Are you...what's happened?" Effie demands, her eyes darting between the two of us.

"We want to go," Peeta says plainly, but when she doesn't answer, he makes it more clear.

"Now, we want to go now." Peeta says.

"But..you've just gotten here! Why not enjoy the party?" She says hopefully, but Peeta just shakes his head. She stares at us for a while, trying to decode our blank faces. She finally sighs, apologizing to the group of women, and then mumbles something about Haymitch. She tells us to wait here and darts into the crowd.

She comes back, pulling Haymitch by his shirt sleeve as he wobbles about. Seeing him, I immediately feel furious. He knew about Finnick and Annie, and he never even mentioned it. It was some kind of joke to him, and now he's left us shocked and broken even further. I let go of Peeta, and step up to Haymitch.

"You knew!" I exclaim, and Haymitch focuses his eyes on my face. "You knew about him, and you said nothing!"

"Now, what're you talking about?" He asks, clutching Peeta's shoulder for balance.

"Finnick!" I shout to obviously loud, but I don't care. "You knew about Annie, and you didn't tell us. Is that what you were waiting for us to find, that baby?" I demand, but he just looks confused.

"_What?_" He asks, and now, I can't stand it. I give him a shove, losing my sense of pride. I don't even care.

"Their baby! You knew she was pregnant, that's what you told Effie tonight, about me seeing him! You kept it from us!"

"_That's _what you thought I meant? Oh no, sweetheart, you've got it wrong this time."

"Then what did you mean?" Peeta asks, and I nod. We look to him expectantly, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Effie cuts in.

"That's enough!" She exclaims, pulling Peeta from Haymitch's grasp. She leads us into the hall after thanking Plutarch, who I didn't bother to say hello to, and then leads us out to the car, where we all slide in, disheveled. I look to Peeta, who seems just as confused as I am. If Haymitch wasn't talking about Annie's baby, who _was_ he talking about?

But now, slumped on Peeta's shoulder, driving through the mazes of the city, I can't bring myself to ask. If whoever he was talking about could stun me more than seeing Finnick's son tonight, I'm not sure I want to know.

When we arrive back at the old Training Center, and, our new home for the next few weeks, we all stumble through the doors. Peeta practially drags Haymitch into the elevator, where, once the doors open, he slumps unconscious. Effie and Peeta both sigh.

"It's alright," I say to Peeta, "I'll just get on the next one."

"Are you sure?" He asks, and although I'm not, I nod. He sends me a rueful smile as the doors close, and I lean against the wall, waiting for the next elevator to slide into place.

I want to collapse, here, where it's dark and empty, and just leave everything behind. The Capitol, the people, everything. It was a mistake to come here, and I know that now. The thing is, I can't go home either, because anymore, I don't have a real home. The house Victor's Village is not my home, it's my living quarters. I don't feel warm or safe there, the way I always did in our small house with Prim. There is no one to look forward to seeing again, to wait to welcome me back. I am utterly alone, besides Peeta. And now, after what has happened with Peeta, things seem even more complicated. Kissing him tonight, it might have been a mistake. I do feel something for Peeta, but I don't know what. My actions tonight were drastic, and when the familiar dong of the elevator chimes, I'm feeling regretful.

I turn back towards the doors, waiting for them to slide open. All I want to do is hide away in the darkness of sleep, and as the doors open, my eyes are drooping with the thought.

I look down to pick up the skirt of my long purple dress, careful not to trip on the hem. I gather the silky fabric between my fingers, and pull it upward. I look back up, stepping into the elevator, when it happens. The fabric slides from my hands, and I instinctively step back again. The world is swirling, and I can't help the quick breath the catches in my throat. Reality is crashing down on me, and I know that it this must be some kind of sick dream when I hear that one word.

"Katniss..." The voice sounds deep and clear and I would recognize it anywhere. Except now, I can't bear to hear it's familiar tone. Rather, _his_ familiar tone, standing right in front of me.

Gale.


	11. Chapter Eleven

"Katniss..." I hear it again, except this time, it's twisted and swirled in my foggy thoughts. I'm stumbling backwards, clutching the wall behind me. This must be a nightmare, a sick, twisted dream, like so many others I have had before. I just need to wake up.

I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, hoping for relief, but when I open them again, I find that things have not changed. Standing in front of me is my oldest friend and hunting partner. Gale steps out of the elevator, waiting for something, anything, but I don't move any closer. I don't understand how this is possible, how he is here. Now, it seems, this night has gone deeper into my tangled past than ever before. Peeta, Annie, and now, Gale. I can't make sense of anything now, it is too late and I am too tired and things are too complicated. I'm sure the reality will hit me more directly tomorrow, but for now, I am left with the foggy quality of the present, grasping for the truth.

When he steps into the light, and his face is shown clearly, something in my brain is triggered. Surges of energy pump through my body, and I can feel the anger boiling in my stomach. Everything that he has done, all the pain he has inflicted, I am feeling it now. I want him gone.

This time, I step forward, reaching toward him. He takes this as an act of welcoming and joy, but he is wrong. But he interprets to be a hug turns into a powerful shove, and he is pushed against the wall. I know that he must weigh twice as much as me, but it was his unpreparedness that weakened him. He looks towards me, and I can see the obvious hurt in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" He asks, and I can feel my throat burning. I can't believe that Gale is really here, in the Capitol. I didn't know what happened to him after the war, just that he had moved to another District, Two I think, and that was it. We never spoke again. Until now.

I don't answer him, because I am afraid that the words won't come out. I am only thinking of Prim, young, sweet Prim, and the fire burns in my stomach again. I need to get away before I do something I will regret.

My eyes move to the elevator, and I dart forward, sliding through the opened doors. I slap my hand against the buttons inside, not even checking to see what I press. It doesn't matter, though, as long as I can escape this nightmare.

"Wait!" he shouts, and he slams his hand onto the door, and they automatically slide back open. I back into the corner of the small, plush compartment, and I turn from him, afraid to see his face again.

"Katniss, please," He almost begs, but I don't budge. I just want this to all go away.

"Just let me explain," He says, and he reaches forward, gently brushing against my arm. When I feel his touch, I flinch, pulling away. I can see the horrid look on his face, shame and pain. And although some old part of me wants to feel bad, all I can think of his Prim.

"No," I finally growl, shaking my head slowly. The elevator doors close again, and I can feel it slowly starting to rise. When he hears the anger in my voice, it must finally hit him. He backs away to the opposite corner, sighing and shaking his head. I listen to the dongs of each floor passing by, and the gentle voice announcing each floor. When we reach Eleven, the door slides open.

"I'm-" He pauses as his voice breaks, "I'm sorry." He steps out of the door, and I give him one last look. He looks back towards me, with his broken, sorrowful, expression, and I would notice it anywhere. It's the same look he wore when I finally returned from the Games with Peeta. Except now, I feel no guilt.

The water beating against my back stings with heat, and I let it pound my whole body clean of anything my prep team left on me. Make-up, hairspray, everything; washed down the drain. My stomach rumbles in hunger, but I ignore the sensation. Now, when I am still hazy with sleep, everything that I feel is dull and has yet to hit me with full force. I know, though, that the regrets of last night are soon to crash down. I just hope that I don't hurt anyone else in the process.

I shampoo my hair clean, and then I scrub down my whole body. I'm sampling a peachy soap on my legs when I hear the familiar click of the bathroom door. I freeze, afraid of who waits outside the translucent shower doors. I squint my eyes through the fogged glass, and I make out a tall and sturdy figure.

"Katniss?" Peeta's voice echoes against the bathroom walls, and I immediately relax. Although the thought of Peeta in my bathroom while I shower does seem a little strange, it's better than most alternatives. But then, seeing his figure and hearing his voice, I can finally feel things starting to crash.

"Yes?" I say shakily, and I carefully slide the glass door open. As soon as Peeta realizes my state, his eyes dart away, and I can see his cheeks burning. I reach for a towel, and then after wrapping up, step out of the shower and onto the cool tile floor.

"Don't worry, I'm decent now." I say, and he turns back towards me, gently smiling.

"Who's pure now?" I ask teasingly, remembering back to that day in the elevator. Peeta just shakes his head, laughing.

"I guess I'm only innocent around you," He suggests, and I smile. He does too, but then his expression hardens.

"I didn't come just to watch you get out of the shower," He says with a half smile, but then the hard expression returns, "I—I didn't see you come in last night, and then, your door was locked. I was worried that..." He trails off, but I just shake my head. I am already feeling guilty, and also, scared. Before, it seemed like things might actually start to work out with Peeta, if we could rebuild our friendship without too much difficulty. I thought I had bundled my past away, but obviously, I didn't do it well enough. Gale is here, and I don't know what I'm going to do.

Peeta must see the tense expression I hold on my face, because he steps closer, gently touching my bare arm.

"Are you alright?" He asks, and I look up, afraid to answer. The truth is, I'm not. I thought I was ready to be with Peeta again, to feel his warmth, but I was wrong. I am not as strong as I estimated. One person, just one, could relight the flame of my past in an instant. Except, is Gale just one person? Or is he more? He used to be, but now, I'm not sure what to think.

"I'm sorry," I say to Peeta, and he looks confused. "I just—can't." I force out the last word, and then step past Peeta into my room. From the way I stand, he knows what I am suggesting.

"I..." I starts, but he just shakes his head. He gives me one last broken glance, and then leaves the room, leaving his disappointment hanging in the air.

I collapse back onto the bed, letting the tears flow, but nothing happens. I just lay there, wrapped in the wet towel and the soft blankets, silently and dryly sobbing to myself. I just want Prim, to feel her warmth, to tuck in her too-big blouse, to remind her to be careful. Gale has only soaked my bandages with his appearance last night. My wounds that Peeta was finally starting to heal have reopened. I am setting into darkness. I am not longer a setting sun, but a dark and hallowed night. Gale has forced my last flicker away, and now, I am just darkness. Nothing, compared to Peeta's glowing light.

I want to fall asleep and let the pain drift away, but I can't. My hunger has become irresistible, and if I don't get up now, I'm afraid I never will.

I slide into a dress, leaving my dripping hair tangled and knotty. When I walk into the dining area, I find Roman, Effie and Haymitch all seated at the table eating lunch. They all turn when they see me, their chatter ceasing. I don't bother to say hello; I just sit down and serve myself some tender beef and a slice of bread. The room is still silent when my am cutting away at steak.

"I don't know what you did to that boy, but he didn't seem too happy when he left your room." Haymitch says through a bite of bread, but I don't look up.

"Just leave her alone, now." Effie says, and for once, I am thankful for her. I don't need Haymitch's mocking tone right now, and I'm doing all I can to not jump across the table and claw him. Again.

Eventually, Effie brings up the topic of the party, and although they are all full of stories, I excuse myself early. I can't sit here and listen, not after what happened. I go back to my room, and I flip through the display screen on the window, watching different scenes. A stormy sky, children at the beach, ants crawling through the dirt. When I can't stand even that any longer, I walk back out, but I find only Haymitch. He's drinking, what smells like liquor, and although Effie wouldn't approve, she seems no where near.

I sit down across from him, and he just gives me a glance. I swallow hard.

"You knew? I mean, you know. That he's here." I ask, and he just watches me for a minute, and then he nods.

"Of course I knew. I thought you would have pieced it together last night. I didn't even know about that kid of Finnick's." He says with a sigh. I can see the regret in his eyes, and it's obvious that he feels pain in the mentioning of Finnick as well.

"Why is he here?" I ask, even though it sounds childish.

"He fought just the same," He reminds me, and then adds "But something tells me he had another motive."

When he says this, I look at him strangely. He just sloshes the ice cubes in his glass for a while, and then looks up again.

"I don't care what happens with Gale, just...don't go breaking any breaking any more hearts." He says grimly, and I know he must be speaking of Peeta. As much as I would like to think that I haven't broken Peeta's heart, I know it's not true. I have hurt him more times than I can count. Gale's heart, though, I'm not so worried about.

"You don't think Gale deserves the favor returned?" I spit angrily.

"I think you're above that," He replies with a frown.

"He stopped deserving my respect a long time ago." I point out, but Haymitch just frowns.

"And don't you think he might be sorry?" He suddenly exclaims, startling me.

"Are you defending him?" I shout back, not believing what I am hearing. Is Haymitch on Gale's side now? I don't understand.

"I might be!" He shouts, "I just can't watch you ruin everything you stick your nose into!"

"Me? I'm ruining things? The only thing that's ever showed you a sense of security is a bottle of liquor!" I shout, but when I say it, I can see the pain shooting onto his face. First, it's a hint of sadness, but then, fury. He grits his teeth and glares up at me.

"That's just _rich," _He hisses, and I want to apologize, but the look on his face tells me it's not the right time. "Go, ruin things again. What do I care? I've watched you hurt Peeta more times than I can count! What's another tally on the board?" I can feel the sting in his words, and I can't stand to be here any more. I make a dash for the door, leaving Haymitch and his foul words behind.

The worst part through all of it, his speech and his anger, is the fact that I can't deny it. It's true and I know it. I'm a monster, just hidden by secrets and lies. Gale showing up here has just brought them to light. I slam the door, and I stalk the hall for a while, trying to let my anger and frustration steam out, but it's without success. These walls are confining me, I just wish I could be back in the woods. The fresh air, the open space, all of it. I need room to think.

And that's when I remember. The roof.

I don't even stop. I head straight down the hall, turning at the corner. The large, thick door looks just the same as before, and I carefully ease it open. In side lies the stair way, and then at the top, a door. An opened door.

_Peeta..._

He's the only one who would know about this place, and it makes sense. Is he waiting for me up there? For an apology? For an explanation? Before I reach for the knob, I stop. I don't think I can provide either of those things for him, but maybe I can work up the strength to at least mention what happened with Gale. I take a deep breath, and then let it out. I turn the small brass knob and let the rush of the spring air hit me. The sun is bright and blinding at first, and I squint to try to make anything out. Once I adjust, I can clearly make out the his figure, standing near the edge. I take a step closer, looking for his distinctive features. I go to call his name, but stop mid-breath. _This_ is not Peeta. This is a nightmare.

"Katniss," Gale calls, and I can see the pure bewilderment on his face. I immediately feel resentment, not specifically at Gale, but at the fact that he found this place. As far as the Capitol goes, this place was more comforting than any. But mostly, this was our place. Peeta and me, under the sun or the stars. Gale's presence feels wrong.

I'm not sure what to say or do, but I instinctively start to back up towards the door again. When he sees this, he runs forward, calling for me to wait.

"Katniss, please," He pleads, and when he says it, some part of me freezes. Maybe it's his voice, or maybe it's just seeing his eyes again, but I can't move.

"What are you doing here?" I state, and being the first real thing I have said to him in months, it's rather dry. But, when he hears my voice, he immediately looks more alert. He seems surprised to finally hear it.

"I—uh..." He stumbles on his words, trying to form a sentence. "Haymitch told me you come up here sometimes," He admits, and I immediately feel even more fury towards Haymitch. So, he was not only aware of Gale's being here, but he has spoken directly with him. What else is he hiding from me?

I don't respond, because anger is overtaking me. I'm afraid that if I say anything else, I will just erupt on Gale like a raging volcano of hatred. Not that I really care. I guess I just don't want him to see me so weak and vulnerable.

"I'm sorry about last night," He says, but again, I don't respond. The empty silence is filled only with the sounds of cars and people below.

"Please, Katniss. I need to hear you." He pleads, and finally, that sets me off.

"You need to hear me?" I ask astounded. "And you think through all this time that I didn't want a friend's voice again?"

"Then why didn't you? You knew where I was, you could have found me. " He begs, his eyes searching for answers.

"I said I wanted to hear a friend, Gale. Not you." I answer coldly, and I can almost see the pain striking his chest. He sighs with sadness and shakes his head. He just stands there for a while, watching me.

"This isn't you," He finally says, "I was this person. Weak, angry, tormented. You were the one that always reasoned with me, helped me see. And now, you're just the same as I was."

"I'll never be you!" I snarl.

"But you are! Don't you realize? I targeted those in pain, who couldn't understand. I could never see things any other way than my own, and look where I am now. You're entangling me in your snare just like I used to." He states, and his words burn in my mind. I want to thrash about and push away and say it's not true, but, something deep inside agrees. I have hated him all this time for the pain he inflicted, and now, am I doing just the same?

"You think I don't repeat that day through my mind all the time? To think how I could have stopped Coin, convinced her there was another way?" He asks, and I can hear the ache in his voice.

"Well, it's too late." I say, "Because Prim is dead by your snare, not mine."

And this time, I've hit too hard. He backs away, tears obviously swelling in his eyes. I'm angry and sick and depressed in the thought of it all, and Gale has just blown it up even greater. I turn to go, because I can't take anymore, but not before I catch his last words.

"_I'm sorry."_

But deep down, I know it's not enough.


	12. Chapter Twelve

I'm stumbling through the halls, Gale's words echoing in my mind. My mind is numb as it tries to process what has happened, but I am left with no explanation. My room is not an option; I'm not ready to confront Haymitch again. He not only knew about Gale, but he was talking to him behind my back. How could he not realize the pain I would feel in this? I want to stay far away from him.

Somehow, I find myself on the elevator, just gliding up and down the floors, watching as the buttons light up and then fade again. When I have made five complete trips, and the elevator rests at the lobby floor, I reach my hand to press the buttons again. But, before I do, a dainty hand reaches through the closing doors to stop them. They halt, and then slide open again. Effie. I'm surprisingly relieved to see her and not someone else.

"Oh, Katniss! Where are you headed?" She clucks. I pause for a moment, not really sure what to say. I'm not sure if she would approve of my elevator game, but I don't have anything else to say. My mind races to think of something.

"Well, I was actually looking for you," I admit sheepishly, although it's not true. She doesn't seem to realize the fault in my words though, because she just smiles.

"Well, here I am! What did you need?" She asks, obviously excited to see that I am taking some interest in her and not sulking in my room anymore.

"Just wondering what's on the schedule today," I respond, and now she seems genuinely surprised. After working as a counter force against her punctuality for so long, she is delighted to hear that I am finally making an effort to stay ahead of schedule.

"Oh, well, let me just check," She pulls the clipboard from under her arm as the elevator starts it's decent upward. She runs her long purple nail down the page until she finds today's schedule.

"Just some dress fittings, if they get here on time. Plutarch had them sent here himself, but he isn't always punctual. I'm afraid they might not be here until tomorrow. I guess we will just have to see." She says, pursing her lips. I literally sigh when she says this, because for the first time, I was hoping for something to get me free of this place. She pats me on the back, assuring me that we lot's of "big, big days!" ahead of us, but right now, it doesn't really matter. I want out now.

When we arrive back on our floor, Effie clicks out of the elevator and into the room. I slowly follow her, swallowing deeply before I enter. I'm relieved to see that Haymitch has cleared out, leaving just the two of us alone in the suite. Effie heads to her room, explaining that she has some work to finish before dinner. I just sigh, but I assure her that I will be fine. The slam of her closing door echoes through the walls, but Peeta must hear it, because he pokes his head out of his room.

"Katniss?" He says, and then fully steps out. When I see him, I can almost feel the guilt hitting me. From the way I treated him this morning, and then not telling him about Gale. Does he know now? Did Haymitch tell him? I'm not sure what to say, so when he takes a step closer, I close the distance between us and run towards him.

"Listen, I-" He starts, but I cut him off, enveloping him in a hug. I wrap my arms tightly around his torso, pressing my face into his neck. At first, he seems unsure, but then he just wraps one arm around my shoulder and rests the other on my hip. His head rests in my hair, and I'm glad to feel his warmth.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, but he doesn't respond. I'm not sure if it's because he is angry or upset, but I don't push it any further. We just stand there, clinging to each other. I still feel sick from my run-in with Gale, and I needed Peeta's strength now more than ever. This, being here in his arms, it's so natural. Unlike the other times I am with him, I don't feel odd or misplaced. This is right, and I want to hold on to it forever. It reminds me of that day on the roof, when Peeta told me he wanted to freeze this moment. I feel the same now. It's short lived, though. Time keeps ticking on, the sun keeps setting. I can feel the moment fading as the guilt returns. I need to explain things to him, even if it hurts.

I am loosening my grip around him, and I turn my head up to face him. His expression is hard and painful, and it makes me want to tell him about everything so much less. I know I have to, though.

He finally lets go too, and I step back. I pull him to the plush couch, where we both sit down. Normally I would curl up closer to him, but now, it doesn't seem right. I let out a deep breath, rearranging my words in my head.

"This morning..." I start, and I have to pause to pick the words. "I didn't mean to hurt you,"

He just stares at me, waiting for more. I wish I was more like him, so easily molding the words to my liking. I'm not sure how it happens, or why, but suddenly, the words are coming out before I can stop them.

"Gale. He's here. After you brought Haymitch up last night, I saw him. I just, I didn't know what to do. And then you came in this morning, and I was afraid you would be upset." My voice catches on the last word, but I continue. "And then, I saw him on the roof. I don't know what to do, Peeta. I thought I could handle it, and I couldn't. I can't. I need you." The tears are swelling in my eyes, and I reach for his hand. When I intertwine my fingers through his, he doesn't stop me. He's still silent, though. He's thinking, I can tell. Everything is finally crashing, and I just want Peeta's warmth again.

"He's here?" Peeta asks, baffled. It's hard to read his emotions, though. Pain? Anger? I nod, waiting for his reaction.

"Just let him go," Peeta says lightly, but painfully. I can tell that the words hurt him, I can see it in his eyes.

"What if I can't?" I ask shakily, and a tear spills over and slides down my cheek. Peeta reaches over, and carefully wipes it away.

"Then find something new to hold onto."

And with this, his hollow words, my breath catches in my throat. For a moment, we just sit there, staring into each other's eyes. Then, he slides his free hand onto my thigh, and I can feel my heart speeding up. He pulls me closer, first next to him, but then, into his lap. His legs sit between mine, and I look down at him. Slowly, I lean in, pressing my lips against his.

Everything stops. Sounds, feelings, time. Light fades away, and all I know is this boy. I am him, and he is me. He slides his hand down my back, and I wrap mine around his neck. I forget Haymitch, and Gale, and the Capitol. This is not like last night, where I was simply longing for his physical presence. This is something more, something deeper. I can't explain it at first, and something in the back of my head is questioning this decision. Will I only regret it later? I'm already regretting our contact last night, and now that Gale is in the picture, will this only make things worse?

He must sense my apprehensiveness, because he pulls away gently. He just looks at me for a while, and I just look back at him. I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and it sends chills through my entire body. When he finally speaks, his words bring goosebumps on my neck.

"Real or not real?" He whispers, and at first, I'm not sure what he means. Then, I realize that he is asking if this moment itself is real. A smile creeps across my face.

"Real," I whisper back, and his smile mimics mine. I tighten my grip around his neck, and let myself get lost in the boy with the bread.

At first it's just our lips; hot, ragged breaths shared through each kiss. But then, I'm running my fingers through his hair and his hands are slowly sliding down my back. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he stands, carrying me to his bedroom, our lips never separating.

From the quick glances that I get, I see that his room is identical to mine, except the window lays on the opposite side of the room. Through this window, the setting sun shines through. He pushes me against the cold glass, and my legs slide back to the floor. My feet sink into the plush carpet, and I have to stand on my toes to reach his lips. He chuckles, realizing my difficulties. He wraps him arms around my waist to pick me up, but this time, he drops me on the bed. My hair flows out against the pillow, and he leans over me, his lips grazing my neck.

Time slows as Peeta's warmth spreads through me. His lips on mine, the soft fabric of his sweet smelling shirt blending into his hot breath. This doesn't compare to any time I have kissed him before, in the cave, on the beach, even last night. In the arena, I kissed him to stay alive. And now, this is still what keeps me alive. Not through the sponsors though, it's him. Peeta keeps me alive, and right now, I feel complete.

We walk to dinner together, hands intertwined. No one comments on it, even Haymitch, who justs watches us with doubtful eyes. Effie gives me a tight but genuine smile when she passes me the plate of rolls, and even Roman, who I barely know, seems satisfied with our presence.

Over the next few days, I cling to Peeta tightly. Effie works with each of us to prepare us for everything to come. It turns out that over the last few months, my skills in heels have only gotten worse, and she spends almost three hours on this. We work on posture, and speaking, and eye contact. Peeta excels, but I mostly want to sit and let him do the talking. They both work with me, and Effie assures me that as long as I stay near Peeta, I should be alright. It's okay with me, though, because I didn't plan to leave his side.

The days are long and boring, filled with these lessons, but the nights bring no relief. I am awoken by nightmares of mutts and roses and dropping bombs, and I can only find comfort in Peeta's arms. I have longed for his calming embrace for so long, and I don't want to let him go.

Although I don't bring Gale up again, Peeta must realize that the encounter still troubles my mind. We're sitting in his room, strewn across the bed while he twists my hair around his fingers. The room is silent as I bite my lip.

"He's becoming a doctor," He says quietly, and I turn to look towards him.

"Who?" I ask. He pauses.

"Gale. Haymitch told me he's been working to become a doctor." Peeta says, and I shift towards him instinctively.

"You've been talking to Haymitch about Gale?" I ask defensively, and I can see the struggle knit on his face. He must realize that he has misspoken.

"Only because he brought it up first. I didn't mean to make you upset, I just thought you might want to know." He says with an innocent shrug, and I have to believe him. I know that Peeta is only trying to make me feel better, but something about his words rubbed me the wrong way.

"Prim," I whisper.

"Hmm?" He asks, gently brazing his hand against my chin.

"She told me, back in 13. She wanted to be a doctor." My sentences are choppy and incomplete, but he understands. From the way he looks at me, I know he worries that I might cry. But I don't. Gale doesn't deserve any more of my tears.

And then he drops it, and doesn't bring the matter up again. It's odd, though, if what Peeta says is true. Gale, a doctor? It just seems strange. But then I remember how careful his hands could maneuver through snares, how his precision always paid off. Maybe it does make sense, but I just can't bring myself to accepting Gale into reality again.

After dinner, Effie is relieved to announce that the dresses finally arrived, and I have to force a smile. Haymitch chuckles when he sees this, but I brush it off. Peeta, too has clothes to be fitted to, so they pull us each to our separate bedrooms. I can't help the sigh I release when I see how many dresses are hung on the wall.

Octavia helps me step into the first dress, a long, deep blue evening gown covered in jewels, and Effie takes a few measurements. Then, it's off with the dress and I slide into the next one. Change, measure, change, measure, until all nine dresses have been fitted and hung up again. I'm exhausted when the process is complete, and I just want to go to sleep, but Effie informs me that my prep team has a few modifications to make before the parade tomorrow.

The parade, she explains, involves all the living tributes and veterans. Peeta and I will receive our own chariot, along with previous victors. I can't help but immediately think to the tribute parade, where the twenty-four boys and girls were forced into ridiculous costumes and driven through the streets. I shudder at the thought, and Effie must realize, because she promises that everything will sail smoothly.

"You might even have some fun!" Flavious peeps, but he just receives discerning looks. That shuts him up, and they lead me to the bathroom.

Turns out that the "modifications" include three different baths, a haircut, a manicure, and a scrub down in a warm gel that leaves my skin soft and smooth. My eyes are drooping by the time it's done, and I stumble into the living room to find Haymitch, Peeta and Effie reviewing the schedule for the parade. I squeeze in next to Peeta, and his arm closes around my waist. I try to listen, but eventually, my body wins out over my mind and I doze off.

I wake up in my bed, the gentle sunlight streaming through the window. I instinctively reach for Peeta next to me, but find emptiness. I panic, afraid of where he might have gone, but find him at the table with everyone else, eating breakfast.

"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you. You were so tired last night, I thought I would let you sleep." He says, but I just shake my head.

"No, it's fine." I say with a smile, and the truth is, I _was _tired. Although I was disappointed to find an empty bed this morning, I'm thankful for the sleep. Dream-free nights are few any more, and Peeta must have realized that.

I sit down, my stomach grumbling. I fill my plate with eggs and sausage and a bright orange sauce that almost tastes like syrup, but sweeter. I'm reaching for seconds when Haymitch interrupts me.

"You've got prep for the parade starting in twenty minutes," He says steadily, and then takes a sip of what I assume to be liquor.

"You too," He says to Peeta, and he nods.

"Both of you. We're leaving in ten minutes, so clean yourselves up." He says with a grunt, and although my stomach still hungers for more, I head back to my room. I take a quick shower, braid my hair down my back, and dress in the frilly cotton dress Effie must have laid out for me.

"What's the occasion?" I ask once I see Peeta, who is wears gray slacks with his shirt tucked in neatly. Peeta shrugs, but Effie cuts in.

"I'm tired of seeing you two so casual. I thought seeing you in something nicer would be appropriate." She says with a huff, and I don't argue, mostly for her sake. Haymitch has changed as well, and his hair combed into what you might consider neat. Together, we do look better. Roman follows behind us, as Effie insists that he come along rather than sitting here. We march into the elevator, the three of us, Peeta's hand in mine.

We step into the Tribute Center, which seems unchanged since we visited a few days before. We are immediately led into separate areas. As I walk down the long aisles, I notice that we are not alone today. Lots of people fill the compartments, old and young, and I immediately recognize most of them as victors. My throat tightens when I see them, and I try to look away. My prep team quietly chit chats about different guests, their hair, their age, but I just ignore it. I wish Peeta was back with me. He always knows how to handle these situations, whereas now, I just feel sick.

Because I was already cleaned up last night, they mostly work on my hair and make up. I'm not sure what I'm wearing yet, but from the way they are tracing tiny patterns onto my cheeks, something tells me Cinna's work is involved.

Once I am finally released for lunch, I wander around a while until I find Peeta.

"The victors, did you see?" I ask, and he nods.

"More than you realize," He says.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just, I can't help thinking about how many victors there are. I mean, did you see them? Forty, fifty? But then, I just keep multiplying that by twenty-four, and..." He fades off, and I understand what he means.

We walk silently back to the elevator, where we stand together waiting for the doors to slide open. Once we're inside, I take a big gulp of air. The scent of hair spray and perfume was consuming me, and it's nice to get some clean air.

After we eat, we head back to change into our costumes. Although it reminds me of the Tributes Parade, I remind myself that it's different, _better_. This doesn't seem to calm my nervous stomach, and even Peeta can't stop my shaking hands.

"Are you alright?" He asks as he adjusts my headband. I'm in a short, fitted purple dress, and he's in a suit of the same color. The intricate patterns on my face curl up the dress and his suit as well, and even in the dim light of the chariot stable, they almost seem to be flickering up the dress. I nod, but it must not convince him.

"We'll be fine," He assures me, and I nod again. We're standing in the chariot center again, back where I first met Finnick. The memory hits me with great force, and Peeta almost has to carry me into the chariot.

Effie reminds us to smile as the horses, who's manes have been braided with matching purple ribbons, start gallop. I clutch Peeta's hand, and force a smile onto my cheeks. As we approach the thundering crowd, it's not Effie's reminder that makes me smile, it's the kiss Peeta plants on my lips.

And just like that, I feel strong again. Maybe it's Peeta, or maybe it's the screaming crowd, or maybe it's just the warm spring air against my face. But when he kisses me, and his warmth spreads through every fiber of my being, I am the Mockingjay again. My melodies are sung again.

But, through the hazy fog of joy, something else surfaces. Alarm, terror, shrieks of pain. I'm not even aware of what it is until I feel Peeta's hand slipping from mine, and the blood blossoming on the surface of his chest.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Lucky. That's all anyone can say. Lucky the bullet dodged his heart. Lucky that Gale knew what to do. Lucky that Peeta's even alive.

But somehow, I wouldn't call it lucky. Not the bullet that flew through his chest, not the blood that seeped from the gaping wound, not the chaos that followed it all. That's not lucky at all, but I won't be the first to say so, even if I could.

Dried blood still laces my arms in rusty smears. My hair, which once sat in an intricate crown atop my head, now sags around my face in a tangled mess. From the looks I'm getting, I must look pretty awful. Red puffy eyes, smudgy make up, covered in blood. Quite a site to see. I might even laugh if things were different. But they aren't.

Sitting in the spotless white waiting room with Haymitch and Effie, my thoughts are muddled. I can't quite comprehend what's happened; it all went so fast. I painfully replay the events in my head.

I couldn't hear the shot through the crowd, but when I saw Peeta crumpling to the floor of the chariot, I knew something was wrong. I tried to catch him before he hit the floor, but his blood instantly coated my hands, making holding onto anything nearly impossible. I shouted for somebody, _anybody, _ and then he was there. Gale, he almost vaporized in front of me, pushing me out of the way. He ripped off Peeta's jacket, revealing the hole in the middle of his shirt. And then he pulled off his own shirt, pressing it against the wound. He's shouting at me, telling me to run, to get someone, but I can barely make out his shouts in the thunder of the crowd around us. All I can focus on are the rippling scars up Gale's tanned back, and the sharp smell of blood in the air. It's Peeta's screams that bring me back to reality, that pull me through the fog. I clutch his hand one last time before I'm running back into the stable, screaming. That's when Haymitch grabbed me, pulling me away from them. I clawed at him, Peeta's blood smearing against his face, but it was no use. His strength overpowered mine. There's shouts of confusion, wondering what's happened, who's done it, who's been hit. The tears burned my eyes as I choked on the words I couldn't say. I could just see Peeta's pale and colorless face before they pulled him into the hovercraft, Gale still clutching onto him.

Recalling it is too painful, and tears spill over again. Haymitch squeezes my arm, but I don't want his comfort. I want Peeta. I want him safe, back in District 12, where no one can hurt him.

Now, no one is saying what they ought to, the thing that is on everyone's mind. _Who did it? _Who shot Peeta? And maybe even more importantly, why?

I heard their whispers in the car, their words muttered from one ear to another. Thoughts of war, and rebellion, and everything in between. I'm thankful that Haymitch and Effie say nothing, because I don't think I could take their words now. Effie's lips are formed into a permanent frown, and from the way Haymitch shakes, I can tell he is desperate for a drink. And right now, I can't blame him.

When the glass doors glide open, I'm the first to stand, hoping for news of Peeta. But, I immediately draw back when I see the dark haired boy who stands before us. Gale's been issued a new shirt, but it's too big. His hands are still bloody like mine though, and even though my instinct says to stay away, I have to remember what he's done.

At first it's just his staggered breaths filling the white room, and we all watch his dirty figure against the clean walls. But then, his ragged voice echoes against the walls.

"He's going to be alright." He says quietly, and although this doesn't really guarantee anything, I'm flooded with relief. I slide back into my chair, using my cleanest hand to wipe away the tears collecting on my cheek. When Gale slides in the chair next to me, I don't refuse. It's quiet for a while, just the sound of my hiccups to break it. Haymitch must have the sense to realize that we want some privacy, so he gets up and stumbles through the glass doors, Effie following.

"Why did you do it?" I finally ask, because it's the one question that troubles my mind the most. I watch as he thinks for a while, tracing the outline of his face against the fluorescent ceiling lights. His chin is covered in dark stubble, and his eyes are heavy with tiredness. In the time away from him, I can see his changes. The sharp jaw, the longer hair, the look in his eyes. It's obvious the the day's events have had their effects on him, but even more, the time away. Without anyone he loves or even knows, how did he make it this long?

He sighs, shaking his head. "I just...couldn't let him die," He admits, and I as badly as I want to ask him about letting people die, I force the thought away. What does he owe Peeta? Enough to save his life?

"Why not?" I ask, and he almost seems surprised when I do. He pauses, as if deciding what he wants to say.

"Because you love him," He says painfully, and my breath catches. It must have been a mistake, what I heard, but from the look on Gale's face, I know that I heard him right. I can't respond, because even though some part of me wants to deny it, something stronger says not to.

"And so what if I do? Why does that change anything?" I ask, the tension in my voice rising.

"Because I love you, Katniss! And if _you_ love _him_, if he's what you want, then I can't watch you lose him!" He shouts, and when he says it, some sort of bomb explodes. Full of passion and pain and tenderness, and neither of us can help the tears that spill over. Gale loves me. And I love Peeta. And Peeta's clinging onto life. And I'm tired of it all.

I accept his warm embrace, the long hug.

"You know I'm sorry?" He whispers, and I just nod. Not because it pays any debts, but because I know it's true. But his words just remind me of Peeta, though, and how much I miss him already. So when Gale finally lets go, I know we need to search for some real answers.

"Come on," I say, except I'm having a hard time really looking him in the eye, so I just reach for his arm and pull him along. We walk from the room into the busy hall of the hospital. Nurses dressed in clean white outfits and doctors in masks buzz past. I'm not sure who to look for, or where to go, so I turn to Gale.

"Where am I going?" I ask desperately, and this time he's pulling me. He leads me through a set of hallways until we reach a glass door with red lights around it's frame.

"What does the red mean?" I ask.

"Emergency," He answers grimly, and then he places his hand on the glass. I'm confused, but then I see the blue light scanning under his palm. The door slides open, and he goes to step in.

"Wait, you can't go in there. They won't let you?" The word curves at the end so I'm asking more than stating.

"It's alright," He says with a sad smile, "Just wait here." And then he disappears through the door.

He reappears seconds later, except now, a tall man dressed in long, white ropes, that are smudged with blood, follows him. He's young, only a few years older than me, but the authority in his voice makes him seem much older.

"This is Dr. Reeseman," He says, and he holds out a gloved hand. I shake it lightly, but the rubber glove sticks to my hand and makes me feel strange, so I pull away.

"He's helping with Peeta," Gale says, motioning toward the doctor. I just stare at him, and I can see the sympathy in his eyes. I do look pretty pathetic, and it's hard not to feel bad for the star-crossed lover who's supposed husband just got shot.

"I'm not going to lie, the wound was bad, fatal even. He's lucky to be alive," Dr. Reeseman says, and I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. Lucky, lucky, lucky.

"We had to get the bullet out first, which was lodged between two ribs. And then we had to repair the tissues and vessels that were damaged. Some of it was pretty serious." He says, and then continues on with some talk of clotting and inflammation and other things that I just tune out because I can't bare to listen to them. When he's finally done, I think he asks if I have any questions, but I can't be sure. So, I just ask the question I've been wondering.

"When can I see him?" I ask hollowly, and he exchanges a look with Gale.

"Well, he's awake now..." He says hesitantly, and my eyes light up.

"He's awake already?" I exclaim, not fully believing what I'm hearing. "How?"

"We had to wake him to prevent hemorrhaging, but, I'm not sure he's ready," He adds, and I look at him doubtfully.

"What do you mean? If he's awake, I want to see him." I demand.

"Katniss, they think there's been some trauma," Gale says quietly, and I turn toward him.

"Trauma?" I ask, stunned. I'm afraid of the answer I might receive.

"To the brain..." Gale says lightly, and I can see the pain in his eyes.

"Just let me see him!" I shout, my throat tightening. I push between them forcing the closing door back open. Gale calls after, yelling at me to stop, but I'm running before he can stop me. I'm surrounded by doctors and nurses scattered about, all apparently shocked to see me back here. So when I run past them and through the last glass door, they haven't even realized what's happened.

But, what I find behind the door makes me wish I never ran back. I'm closing my eyes, trying to force the image away, but it's glued to my mind. By now, Gale's arms are wrapped around me, pulling me away, but it's too late. I've seen what's back there.

Peeta's pale and sweat covered body thrashing against the table is clear in my mind as Gale is carrying back through the halls. I have collapsed over his shoulder, sobbing. The look in his eyes when he saw my face, crazed, angry, unknowing; he's not the boy with the bread. He is no boy that I know. He is the Capitol-crazed, insanity driven, hijacked version of himself. Now I know what they meant when they said trauma. Peeta has prolapsed back, his main melted and reformed through President Snow's iron grasp around his throat. Except this time, he may never come back.

I hear their whispers through my sedated state, sad and forgiving. About Peeta and his fragile mind, about our future together, about the irreversible effects. They'll need something strong this time.

Time passes slowly after they sedate me, and images of Peeta swirl about. I know Gale visits me, I can hear the trails of his voice, but other's too. Plutarch, Haymitch, Effie, and at one point, I could swear my mother, but then I just blame it on the medicine and except that it must have been a nurse. Dreams come and go, but Peeta is all I can think about. Will I ever know him again, the real him? Or will he be stuck in his bottomless state forever?

This is what I'm thinking of when I finally wake up in the empty hospital room. I'm wearing a thin hospital robe, and my hair has been combed back. My throat is horse and dry, so I don't even bother waiting for someone to fetch me a cup. I stick my head right under the sparkling faucet and gulp down the cold water. I try the door, but find it locked. I stumble around a while, but finally give up and collapse back on the bed until someone has the sense to rescue me.

It's Haymitch. Eyes bloodshot and hands shaking, he updates me. I've been out for a day and a half, diagnosed with traumatic shock. Gale, too. Once I went under, apparently he cracked, shaking and shouting until they had to sedate him, too. It seems unlike him, usually so strong. But I guess we all have our dark times.

When I ask about Peeta, he just sighs. He doesn't answer me for a long time, but I just wait.

"I don't know," He finally admits, "No one does yet. Sometimes, he's fine. Asking about you, if you're alright, but then, it's like something else takes over and he loses it." He says, rubbing his tired eyes. Out of it all though, I'm at least glad to hear that something has improved, that he's asking for me. Because I need him more now than ever.

Everything's been canceled, in light of the events that took place. An investigation has been started, but now, that's not what bothers me the most. Who cares who did the shooting, now that it's done? It seems pointless. The effects won't change if we find out who did it.

After I drink some more water, Haymitch says he'll send a nurse in. She comes, and she helps me eat a small meal. A few slices of apple, a bite of toast. She lets me change into simple pants and a shirt, but informs me not to leave the room. But, something tells me that even if I tried, the door would still be locked.

So I sit there for a long time, sipping water and replaying the last few days in my head. Peeta's warmth, his hands in mine, his lips, his breath. I want him again.

He is my sun, my light in darkness. And now, even his light has ceased to shine. What does that leave us with? Just two lost souls, wandering through a life without light? _No, _I think. We're more than that. Because even when our light is gone, something remains. Our will. Weak as it may be, I know that I will not give up on Peeta. I need him, and he needs me. I'll stay with him. Always.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Just eight short weeks before his wounds will have healed. Two months, and the empty cavity in his chest that was once filled by a bullet will be healed, pink and new. Scars will be left, sure, but the pain and suffering will be over. The physical pain, that is.

My days become monotonous, gray and constant. The doctors insist that I stay for a few nights in case of relapsed shock, considering the predicament. Gale's kept too, but we only share occasional empty glances, and that's it. No words, nothing. I can't.

Although they have requested that I rest in bed, no one stops me when I wander the halls. It's mostly empty on our floor, but through night time explorations, I've discovered much more. It's incredible to see so many organized doctors with so much knowledge and so many supplies all gathered here. Before, back home, my mother held the only medical advice around, and even then it wasn't enough. Here, there is more than anyone could ever need.

Even though I do spend hours exploring, it's usually by night. My days are spent in thought, or with visitors. It often surprises me how many people start to care about you when something tragic occurs. Haymitch comes every day with news that's not worth hearing, and Effie too. Plutarch shows up, mostly trying to dig information from me. What did I see, what can I remember? But I just shrug him off, blaming my lack of memory on the shock. He always leaves with a sigh, hoping for more next time. And then, my prep team, who are just beside themselves with grief that the events of the next few weeks were canceled so abruptly. Not that Peeta lies in his room with a bullet wound, or that I am on the edge of insanity, but I don't expect anything else from them. Faces come and go, some I recognize and others I don't. My mother calls, frantic, but I assure her that everything is fine. I can tell she doesn't really believe it, but I think she is putting on a tough face for both of us anyway. Even President Paylor stops in, who I haven't officially spoken to in months. Her brown hair is carefully knit into a round bun on top of her head, and her round face is flushed. But, she's understanding and kind, and she seems to understand my situation more than anyone. She leaves with a tight smile, her bodyguards following closely behind.

After the visiting sessions each morning, it's me who does the visiting next. I'm only allowed to see him while he sleeps, but anything is better than being left with just my thoughts.

I watch Peeta carefully through the glass, his bandaged chest rising and falling, his fingers twitching slightly. When he lays here, he reminds me more of the young boy in the bakery rather than the fragile and damaged man he's become. His scarred face is still and free of worry or regret. I just want to feel his warmth, his hands in mine, but then reality hits me again. He wakes, his eyes crazed with fear and anger and confusion, and my dream is over. Peeta's gone.

After a few days of this same repeated schedule, Plutarch insists that I attend a meeting that I assume must be centered around the week's events. After blowing off the last two, I know I can't get out of this one. Even with the discerning look he receives from the nurse on my way out, he seems delighted to break me out.

Breaking me out turns out to be just a short elevator ride to a conference room the next floor up. I must look considerably ragged judging from the looks I'm getting. Without my make up, or my costumes, or even my classically braided hair, some people have a hard time even recognizing me. It's mostly other patients, though. The people who really know me have seen me in this state before.

My eyes immediately scan the moderately full room. The long black table lined with simple chairs are caged in by bleak gray walls. Gale is already seated, gently rubbing his fingers up and down the edge of the table. An odd look consumes his eyes, as if he isn't his real self. Is he though, anymore? He surely isn't the same boy I met in the woods all those years ago, or even the person I saved from one last whipping. But, who is he? I can't tell now, and I'm not sure if I ever will. Some things will never be uncovered.

Haymitch sits across from Gale, a permanent frown settled on his unshaven face. To my surprise, Fulvia sits next to him, gently humming to herself as she scribbles a few notes down. Her plump face is unchanged, her demeanor the same. Proud, and just a little desperate. She is not the first person I would have chosen to see, but her company is not entirely upsetting and I decide to let her pass under my nose. A few more people are scattered around the table, but the faces are new.

I am shocked when Paylor appears, her two stocky bodyguards on either side. She sits down at the opposite end of Plutarch, who gives her a curt nod. I want to sit next to Haymitch, but the seats next to him are both filled. I finally have to settle with a seat next to Gale, who doesn't even acknowledge me when I sit down next to him. Maybe it's better that way, though.

Plutarch gulps down a sip of coffee, and then clears his throat. He doesn't waste any time.

"I think we can all agree on the circumstances that we are meeting on today?" He asks, and casual nods are shared throughout.

"Yes, well, it's obvious now that it's no longer safe for Peeta or Katniss in the Capitol. Can we once again agree?" Everyone nods again.

"So, our next step is getting them home." He says, and there are murmurs throughout. Although no one says it, it's obvious what is on everyone's mind. How?

"If you are unaware of Peeta's present state, I should best describe it as...well, unfit to return home." He says quietly, and the words gently stab against my chest. _Crazed, sick, broken..._

"But," He adds somewhat cheerfully, "We have some of the country's finest doctors working with him now." He nods towards an older man who smiles tightly. I recognize him as one of the doctors in the room that first day, but otherwise, he's a stranger to my mind. He's old, with wrinkles sprouting down his face in different directions. His thin gray hair is pushed over in a gentle swoop, and when he smiles, you can tell that he must do it a lot; two wrinkles crease an angle into his cheek to prove this.

Plutarch goes on to describe Peeta's condition in a greater depth, but I don't listen. I can't bare to hear any more talk of pain or suffering, and from the looks on the faces in the room, the words seem especially awful. The only face that doesn't seem generally discerned is Gale's. He sits, leaning over the table, curiosity sparked in his eyes. Almost as if he is making a plan.

At some point, he directs the conversation to Paylor, who explains the crime itself. Rumors had been spread, but mostly small things that no one took seriously until now. Talks of rebellion in the Capitol, death of the victors, the District's rightful places. When war is mixed in her words, I can't help the rut that forms in my stomach.

"War?" Gale asks, and Paylor nods.

"Of course, with the ruin that we are still in, it is a distant and dreaded thought. But, we must be prepared for any sort of trouble that could arise." She says, and Gale just shakes his head.

"Then stop it now, before more people get hurt." He says.

"It's not so simple. First the culprit must be found, and then the carrier of the rumors. It's a difficult process." She answers, and ale slumps back into his chair, unsatisfied with the answer.

"Our main concern is the safety of all citizens. It is unfortunate that Peeta had to be hurt so tragically to make us realize our faults, but we know of them now. We hope to extinguish the flame before it catches." Paylor says, and Plutarch nods again. More mumbling spreads, and then, we're dismissed.

It's Plutarch who reminds me that everyone has left, that I can go. I numbly stand up, letting him guide me out the door. A nurse leads me back to my room, where I am escorted to my bed and handed a tall glass of water. I take a small sip to satisfy her, waiting until she just barely crosses the hall. I quietly spring out of bed, my gown tickling my wobbly knees. I carefully tiptoe across the room and to the door.

It's simple to find Gale, just across the hall. He's sitting on the bed, still like a statue, staring out the window. The cloudy afternoon's light shines through, casting shadows on his tired face. He doesn't notice when I step up behind him.

"Gray..." I mumble, and his head cocks sideways, his body jolting with my words. Startled, he takes in a deep sigh, but then just nods.

"Everything. The buildings, the walls, the people..." He says. And of course, he's read my mind. As much as I hate to admit it, Gale still knows me, some small part.

It's just silence then. My bare feet pressed against the cold, smooth floor. His hands folded against his gray trousers. Our eyes flickering with pain and tension. But, my crazed and impatient mind snaps before his does, and my voice shatters the silence.

"What do you know?" I ask, and at first, it's just his dark eyes staring into mine. But he knows he can't lie to me, not again.

"It's Peeta," He admits, and although thousands of thoughts explode at mention of his name, I don't even flinch. I'm frozen, paralyzed.

"What?" I whisper, and he turns toward me.

"They've been working for days, scanning and testing. It's his brain." He says, but I just shake my head. "I've watched, the scans."

"The hijacking..." I murmur.

"No, it's more than that. The poison has latched itself to his brain in clumps." He says, his eyes pleading with mine.

"I...I don't understand," I mumble, and this time, he closes his fingers around my wrists.

"I've figured it out, Katniss. I think I know." He exclaims, shaking my arms.

"What do you mean?" I beg, searching for answers in his words.

"The leaves. It's the leaves!" He shouts, but I'm still struggling to comprehend. His voice is crazed and shaky, and I don't even know if what he's trying to say is true. But, from the look in his eyes, and the tension in his voice, something makes me want to believe him.

And then, almost suddenly, it hits me. What he's saying, what he means. Peeta, the hijacking, the leaves.

_The leaves_.

My face must register with complete shock before I realize, because when he sees it, I can almost hear him sigh with heavy relief.

"Don't you see?" He asks, and I nod. His words are finally piecing together.

"We have to tell them," I exclaim, and this time, I tighten my hands around _his_ arms. He's still for a moment, and he seems to be making a decision. To help me, to help Peeta? What is it that he can't quite choose?

But finally, he just nods. I pull his wrist, and lead him into the hall, looking for someone, _anyone _who will understand. And most of, someone who can help Peeta.

* * *

><p>Under the florescent glow of the small office, I'm leaning against the wall next to Haymitch, who's gently rocking back and forth, and Gale, who's eyes seem to be staring into nothing. Plutarch and Effie are perched across the room, and around the small desk sits several doctors, who's hands are furiously flying across the blue screen on the desk's surface.<p>

The idea is, or should be, seemingly simple. And it goes like this.

Back during the first Games, when I was stung by the Tracker Jackers, Rue, sweet, kind little Rue, chewed the mint leaves to draw out the poison in my stings. And according to the ever extensive scans, and abscess of this same poison has been sitting in Peeta's brain ever since they rescued him from the Capitol during the war. Over time, it will slowly destroy itself, but this is a timely process with slow results. So Gale proposed what is hoped to be a much quicker solution. Use those same leaves that Rue gave me on Peeta's brain.

I almost didn't believe it at first, and even know, I can't be sure. The doctors have been struggling over the idea for hours, unsure if this risky and odd procedure is even possible. So here we sit, watching them, waiting for some sort of answer.

The only sound heard is the soft hum of the street below and the occasional grunt from a doctor. They all introduced themselves at some point, but their names seem pointless now. The only thing that really sticks out to me is the bright orange streak down the youngest doctor's hair.

When my eyelids are drooping and my head aches from staring at the screen for too long, it's Haymitch who suggests I get some sleep. I object at first, not wanting to miss anything that might happen, but when Gale joins in the argument as well, I just agree. For everything that Gale has done, I don't want to argue with him any more than needed. Haymitch volunteers to bring me to my room, so we feebly walk from the office and into the hall. When we are finally back in my room, the door closed, he speaks.

"You know what you owe him know, don't you?" He grunts.

"Of course I do," I sigh, and he just nods grimly. He slips out without another word, leaving me to the silence. And as much as I fight it, sleep comes so quickly I just give up.

And it's not dreams of mutts or clocks or trains that wakes me, its the shouts of someone else, far away. Or so it seems. As I pull myself from sleep's gentle grasp, I realize that the voice is not far away at all. It lies just above the hazy cloud I'm floating in.

"Katniss," The voice sounds, and I'm forcing myself awake to see who exactly it belongs to. My body is weak and my mind clouded, and I'm not particularly fond of being awoken in such a manner.

"Katniss, _wake up!_" The voices says again, and this time, I force my eyes open. The light is blinding at first, and for a moment, its just blackness above me. But slowly, I'm beginning to make out the figure next to me.

"Haymitch?" I mumble, and he grunts in response.

"Who else, sweetheart?" He jabs, and I moan. I can now clearly see his disheveled appearance: unshaven, stained clothes, messy hair.

"What do you _want_?" I ask, but he doesn't acknowledge my mocking tone.

"It's Peeta. Get up." He says, and at the mention of his name, I immediately bolt into a sitting position.

"What?" I gasp, and he nods.

"They think they've done it, come on." He says, and I leap from bed. My mess of hair slaps against my back and a rush of cold air rushes through my gown. From the glance I get in the mirror, my condition is poor, at best. I don't stop, though. Haymitch leads me out of the room and down the hall towards Peeta's room.

A guard stands at the door, but with one look at the both of us, he steps to the side. I give Haymitch a look, but he just shrugs. What is the guard for, to keep people from getting in, to to stop someone from getting out?

The viewing room with the clear glass wall facing into Peeta's confined space is filled with people, doctors and nurses. Plutarch is here, Effie and Gale as well. I'm pushing through the people, trying to get a view through the glass. But, no luck. I can't see past any of the tall figures around me.

I turn around, knowing that there is only one way I will see Peeta. Haymitch realizes what I'm doing before anyone else. He grabs my arm, but I instinctively bit down on his closed fingers and he lets go with a yelp. I push through the doctors and nurses, who are exchanging brisk talk of medicine and brains and Gale. No one seems to notice when I reach the glass door and push it open, except Haymitch, who is yelling behind me.

"Katniss, you know what happened last time!" He shouts, but I ignore it. Peeta is so close, and I have longed so dearly to seem him well again. So when I step through the doorway, the clean smell of antiseptic filling my nose, my eyes dart around the room for him.

And it's not his hair, or his smile, or his welcoming arms that convince me of who he is. Not the warmth of his chest against my cheek, or the gentle scent of soap that lurks on his skin.

It's his eyes, clear and blue and shining with happiness. That's what convinces me. That's what lets me know that I have him back again.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Never before have I felt so happy to be on the train. It's this magnificent feeling, joy and happiness and warmth. And even though sorrow is felt by some, to see these events ending so suddenly, no one can deny the happiness that radiates through us. For the first time in months, we are that young, strong team we were before. Glowing with joy and youth, hand in hand, Peeta and I are that one thing everyone can agree on.

So when we're finally within the confinement of the train, after the plans of safety are discussed by some and tearful goodbyes shed by others, relief floods through me. I'm clutching Peeta's hand tightly, my frilly sleeve tickling his scarred arm. Haymitch doesn't waste any time and pops open a bottle of rum, pouring himself a tiny glass. At first, we all sit around the coffee table in the blue cushioned chairs, but Haymitch just waves us off.

"Go ahead, I'll be alright." He says dryly, but I can hear the sincerity his is voice as well. I just smile, and pull Peeta from the loveseat and through the doorway. We brush past Roman, who I admittedly haven't given any thought about in the past few weeks. After they started treatments on Peeta, that became my whole life. Watching, learning, reminding him of who I really am. Slowly, Peeta transformed from that crazed and twisted mind to the gentle boy I met on this same train so long ago. First it was small things, like how carefully he pushed my hair behind my ear when I would visit, or the mention of home. But slowly, he became himself again. The doctors were amazed. Gale modestly took the thanks he deserved, but once everything died down, I heard he returned to Two. It doesn't matter now, though. He's gone, and Peeta's back, and I just want things to be normal again. If I even know what normal is.

Roman sends us an awkward nod before he passes and enters the dining room. I just laugh, and pull Peeta along. When we reach my door, I'm fumbling with the door knob when he turns me and around and presses me against the door. His hand forms around my face and I let out a shaky breath. He gently bites his lip and smiles, his blue eyes lighting up. I slide my hands around his neck and press my lips into his, tasting his warmth. He gently turns the knob and pushes the door open, carrying me in. He consumes me in his hot breath and soft lips, and finally, I have him back.

And this is how we spend our time on the train. In each others arms, through ragged kisses and gentle touches. We don't talk about what's happened; the accident, or Gale, or the Capitol. It's just us, and our wide smiles. His once carefully groomed hair has become loose and shaggy, and he's always trying to push it away. I love to watch him doing these small things, and I treasure them in my memory. I should know well enough to be thankful for what I have now, because it can very well slip away.

Haymitch talks a little at meals, but mostly it's just silence. Which is fine with me, because I don't really feel like talking anyway. That's all anyone expected from me at the hospital. Answers. About Peeta, about me, about Gale. What happened, what _will_ happen? I've grown tired of their words. They don't realize how strong silence really is, so long as you need it. And we do.

And although the train ride is mostly uneventful, Peeta does have his shaky moments. They warned us of this, because even though the mass cluttering his brain has been almost completely cleared, it will continue to plague him for the rest of his life. Something about nerve patterns and memory and other things that don't make much sense, so we all just nod and smile and agree. Usually it just takes the squeeze of his hand and a soft whisper of my voice to draw him back, and considering the alternative, the price is one I'll willingly pay.

"Home," I say longingly as Haymitch shuts the door after informing us that we'll be in Twelve in just a few minutes. Peeta nods, and twists his fingers through my hair strewn across his pillow. He's quiet for a while, and when I turn to him, I realize that he's thinking about something. His face has taken that quality of concentration I've seen so many times before.

"What?" I ask, and he just looks at me for a while. I'm afraid of what he might say, but he's speaking before I can stop him.

"It's just..." He pauses, letting out a sigh. "What are we Katniss?" He asks, and I look up towards him again, baffled.

"What?" I ask again, confused. He reaches for my hands.

"What_ are _we? I mean, what are we now? After all this." He says, and I sit up, looking to him for more answers. He must realize that I don't understand.

"It's just, we do this," He motions toward our intertwined hands, "And we're together. And it's so great, being with you again. But what are we?"

"I don't know, Peeta." I say. "Does it matter?" I ask, and his eyes widen.

"Of course it matters!" He exclaims, "It matters," he says more calmly.

"Then what do you want me to say?" I ask, flustered.

"I don't _want _you to say anything. I just want to know." He says, but I'm baffled. He's not making any sense, and as much as I hate to admit it, he's making me a little angry.

"What do you mean? You're not making any sense!" I shout, this time pulling away from him a little.

"I'm making perfect sense, Katniss. You know what I'm asking." He says, but I just shake my head.

"I already told you. I _don't_ know what you mean!" I shout, and he turns way, swinging his feet to the floor.

"Then maybe you just need to think it over," He suggests dryly, and steps completely from the couch. He sends me what seems to be a disgusted glance, and then stalks out of the room, slamming the door as he does.

I'm left sitting there, furious at him, and I fling the pillow I laid on across the room. It hits the curtain hanging across the window and then falls to the floor. I bolt up, and slam my palm into the wall. _What is he talking about?_

I know what he's asking? But I don't. I don't know what he's asking, but he doesn't seem to get that. And what are we? Why does he care what we are? Labels wouldn't change anything. Would it? I'm steaming with questions when I stomp out of the room.

Haymitch and Roman are clustered around the table, bags in hand. Haymitch sees the expression on my face and chuckles.

"Oh, you too? What'd you do _this_ time?" He asks, but I'm not in the mood for his sarcasm.

"Just shut up," I growl, and his eyes widen.

"Look at that," He says, "Not so sweet any more." And it takes all my strength to not fling myself across the room at him.

When I can feel the train slowing, Peeta's no where in sight. I tell myself that I don't care, that it doesn't matter. But it does. Something deep inside is still longing for him, even with the anger I feel now.

"He's here," Roman says, and I jump when he says it, because he's almost read my mind. I look at him with wild eyes, but then I calm and just nod, silently thanking him. He knows that I'm worried about Peeta, but he's assured my that he's coming. And I owe him for that. But, I might as well just add him to the list.

As the train finally slows to a stop, Haymitch looks toward me, eyes expectant.

"Ready?" He asks.

"No," I say truthfully, a hint of laughter lacing my words.

A clear voice sounds over the speakers to inform us of the opening doors, and the warm spring air of District Twelve hits me, consuming my body, my soul, my everything.

"_No one ever is," _Peeta's voice says back,and his words ache with the truth.

END OF PART ONE


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Part II: The Darkness

I'm not sure what I expected to find back home. Regularity, maybe. Life back to normal, people the same. How could this change anything, really? I mean, I was only gone for two months. The only thing I truly expected to find were the cherry blossoms blooming in the warmth of May. And they are. Except, the trees aren't the only things that have changed.

It's the people, too. Most are shut inside, and those who aren't dash into hiding when they see me. The farmer's market is deserted, and most people haven't showed up to shifts at the factory in days. It's like life itself has stopped in District Twelve, except, I didn't get the message.

Peeta's no condolence. After what happened on the train, he's locked himself in just like everyone else. And it hurts to see him, finally new again, hidden away like a prisoner. I want him back in my arms, safe from this aching emptiness that fills us all. Except he doesn't want to be in my arms again.

So I wait.

Haymitch provides the only conversations, either through news of the Capitol or news of ourselves. He tells me of more rumors of rebellion within the city, and the troops Paylor has sent out to patrol the streets. The very thought of war makes me sick, but Haymitch assures me that most of it is just talk.

"Besides," He tells me one day, "Good luck to an army fighting against itself."

But eventually, I can't talk about it anymore. He tries to sneak what he's heard into our conversations, but I refuse to listen. Besides that, the only thing left to talk about is home.

"Why?" I ask Haymitch through the dusty haze of the next morning. He's suckling on an empty bottle of wine, but he seems to be listening nonetheless.

"You know why," He says, "They're just afraid of what happened last time. Everyone is."

"To this extent?" I ask, and he just shrugs.

"You've seen what they've been through, Katniss. They don't know who to trust anymore." He answers. I gulp, afraid of what his words might mean. We're walking through the empty square, dust flying with each step. He's told me that we haven't had rain in weeks, and that we're lucky to even see the trees bloom. I think of Peeta, and how I would love to take him to the trees, and let him paint them endlessly. Just to watch his hands move across the paper calms me so deeply. But now, I don't have him at all.

Nights bring no relief to my troubled mind. Nightmares plague me, full of every horrible thing I can imagine. The games are relived too many times to count, and then a thousand times more. I wake up clutching the sheets and covered in a layer of sweat, wishing for the boy who can always calm me down.

But eventually, life moves forward. I enter the woods again, training my body back into it's hidden ways. I eat, I sleep, I hunt. I wander through the hungry district, full of people too scared to live again, but too hungry to stop. Food is dropped from a sleek jet in the sky, but even then, most are afraid to get near it. Even I'm a little suspicious of it, but Haymitch quickly informs me of the order he sent to Paylor herself, explaining the situation. Apparently, almost every other distric is experiencing this same emotional stress. But slowly, people enter their routines again. Working, eating, because they know they have to. Their human instincts win out over fear as they except reality. And besides, I can't help thinking that even if they did a drop a bomb again, why would it matter if you were in the square or at the factory? It's awful to think, but I guess I can't help it. Or so my doctors say.

After a few days of this monotone, I can't bare the thought of Peeta alone in his house any more, and I force Haymitch to go check on him. At first he refuses, telling me that it's my own problem, but after a few minutes of harassing, he gives in.

I wait eagerly in Haymitch's kitchen for some answers, and even manage to clean up a bit while I wait. After Hazel left with the kids with Gale, his house has returned to it's disgusting, and current, state. The stench is almost overwhelming, but I force myself through his kitchen as I pick up empty cans of soup and chuck them into the trash can. I'll remind him to burn it all later.

As I'm digging through the coals on the stove, looking for some spark of heat to bring some water to a boil, the front door opens behind me. Haymitch walks in, kicking some garbage aside as he walks.

"You cleaned up," He says, but from the tone of his voice, he's not quite as appreciative as I would have hoped.

"_This_ is clean?" I ask, but he just rolls his eyes.

We're both quiet for a while as we watch a kicked bottle roll slowly to a stop. But, I quickly become impatient in the silence.

"Is he all right?" I ask desperately, and he looks up at me.

"Well, of course he's not. He's a mess," He says, and my heart sinks. I was hoping for something a little more encouraging. But then again, to know that he's in pain, it's comforting. Not in the way you would think, though. I don't feel happiness in knowing that he's sorrowful, but rather, because I know he must miss me, too.

"But so are you," Haymitch says, "And so is everyone." And it's so achingly true.

"He'll get along," He says with a reassuring nod, and I just sigh. I walk out the half-open door without another word, not wanting Haymitch to see my tears.

And when I'm back in my house, under the thick covers of my bed, I let them loose. Hot and salty down my cheeks, tracing the scars of my broken past. I cry and I cry, until I can't let go of another tear. But the pain remains. Nothing can fill that gap, except Peeta.

So eventually, I'm thinking. About his words, his pain, what it all means. Because as stubborn as I want to be, my longing for him outweighs it all.

_What are we? _Certainly not friends, and I mentally cross that option out. After everything we have been through together, it would be an insult to consider him just a friend. Girls at school used to run around with 'boyfriends', but the word just doesn't sound right. Mostly they just held hands and blushed when they saw each other. I'd like to think that we're more than that as well.

Besides that, I'm stuck. I can't think of anything else to describe what we are, as a pair. I always thought that he understood the bond we shared, but maybe now, things are foggy for him. And I can't blame him. Things are foggy for even me, so I can't imagine what he must be experiencing now.

So I just lay there, struggling with these tangled thoughts. Would apologizing even help now? Something tells me he is searching for something more. He wants answers. Answers that I can't give him.

Hunger eventually draws me out of bed and into the kitchen, where I gulp down a large glass of milk along with a slice of bread with honey. The bread is sweet and warm, and I can't help thinking of Peeta.

After eating, I hobble outside, where only a few brave souls are scattered around. But luckily, the factory seems to be in full swing once again. I walk past the library, and the textile shop, and then finally, the bakery. Someone must have reopened if, a new baker, a new family. I think of all the times I traded here, the kindness Peeta's father always showed. I have to force myself to keep moving forward, because this place reeks with the memories of my past.

And every where I go, it's him. Places we've been together, something that reminds me of him, anything that can set the trigger. He is everywhere, haunting my every move. Even the woods bring no comfort, ever since we came here together so many months ago. I only wish that now he could carry me home again, locked in his warm embrace.

So, I stay in. Leaving brings too much pain, and too many memories. I call my mother for the first time in weeks, but her words are empty and meaningless. I don't even notice when she says goodbye, so I'm just left sitting there, the phone resting in my hand and a soft tone sounding from the speaker to let me know that she's gone. Haymitch stops in looking for liquor, but my back up supply is depleted. He doesn't even seem to notice my disheveled appearance or sour mood, or maybe, that's just the person I've become. Messy, angry, alone.

It's not until I notice the dandelion sprouted outside my door that I finally leave the house's confinement again. It's tall and eager, exploding with tiny yellow petals. At first, I'm just crouched there, watching as it lightly wiggles in the wind. But then, I've ripped it out of the ground, pulling a few flecks of dirt with it. I don't hesitate to pluck the petals out, letting them fly through the wind. I'm ripping it apart, plagued with fury and sadness. I fling it to the ground, stomping it to a mush under my bare foot.

That's when I notice how many of these retched flowers have covered the yard. There must be at least fifty, maybe a hundred. My stomach drops at the sight. I can only hope that the rampage that follows is seen by no one.

Of course, that is too much to ask for. Because when I'm finally done, hands smudged with streaks of yellow and dirt, I hear him behind me.

"Forgot one," Peeta says, and plucks a single dandelion from the edge of my yard. He rolls the stem between his finger and thumb, watching as the petals gently flutter. And then he let's it fall to the ground to lie among it's brothers and sisters in the mass dandelion grave.

"Annoying weeds, aren't they?" He asks, and takes a step closer. Even from my distance, his poor state is obvious from the dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. Although I hate to see him like this, it does make me feel a little bit better about my appearance.

"Yes," is all I can manage. Even that single word sounds strained as I force it out, but it's all I can handle. A mix of surprise and embarrassment fills my stomach, and I can feel my cheeks burning under the smudges of dirt.

"Hm," He says, his eyes squinted.

"What?" I ask, flushed. He shakes his head.

"Nothing," He shrugs, "I guess I just wanted to see if things are as bad for you."

"And?" I ask, his words echoing my same thoughts so many days before, when I sent Haymitch to check on him.

"Worse." He says with a light smile, but I don't reflect on back. After all these days without him, the last thing I could do is laugh about what's happened.

Things are quiet for a moment then, and we just stand there sort of watching each other. Clean of make-up and costumes, you can see Peeta's true appearance. Although his sandy blonde hair and striking eyes haven't changed, his strong arms are scarred with light rippling burns and scratches. Stubble covers his square chin, hiding many of the faint lines that trace his cheek. He seems older now than ever.

"I'm sorry," He says, "about before, I mean." And his words shock me. Is _he_ apologizing? To _me_?

"What?" I mutter, and he steps closer again.

"On the train. I was confused, and I said things I shouldn't have." He confesses, his eyes pleading with mine.

"Which things, exactly?" I ask.

"All of them," He whispers, but I'm too shocked to answer at first. After weeks of solitude, here he is again, confessing his true feelings for me. I feel almost sick, but I'm not sure why. I thought I would be relieved to have him back again, considering how much pain I've felt without him. But something isn't right.

"So what happens to what you asked me, then? You don't care anymore?" I ask finally.

"No, I was wrong. It was stupid." He says, but I can see the confusion on his face.

"Well, maybe you weren't..." I mumble.

"_What?_" He asks, amazed. As much as the words hurt, it's true. Except, I didn't realize it until now. What he asked me, back on the train, I want to know to. After the embrace, the kiss, everything, what's left? What are we?

"I need you, Peeta. It's just..." My words trickle off, because my thoughts are cluttering together before I can set them straight into words. I try to form them into something understandable, but everything sounds wrong in my head. I stand there, mentally adding the right words together while he waits.

But it's not Peeta who interrupts my thoughts again, but he realizes what does right as I do. It's the distinctive sound above me, the light whiz through the air. My heart stops, and Peeta freezes.

A jet. Not the sturdy one that dropped the food before, but a sleeker model. Thin and quick, made to maneuver through the air with precision. This is no passenger plane. This jet has one purpose, and one only.

Bombs.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

It's Peeta's sharp inhale that forces me back to reality. Our eyes meet for the fastest of moments before my instincts take over. I aggressively reach for Peeta's wrist, locking my fingers around him. I forget about what was before, and focus on now.

"What's happening?" He asks as we're sprinting through the Square. I can barely hear his words over the confused shouts shared by families and friends. It's these people that remind me what I need to do, what I_ have_ to do, and I force my feet to slow.

"We have to go!" I scream, and several heads turn toward me. "Away, from here!" I shout again, and this time, more people seem to realize what I'm insinuating.

"You think their going to do it?" Peeta asks, quietly enough that only I register his words through the muffled shouts and the buzz of planes above.

I can't even form the words, so I just nod painfully. I pick up my feet again, pulling Peeta through the forming crowd. The hysterical cries of mothers are shared with children and husbands, and now we're both shouting to move, to come with us.

It doesn't take long for them to understand. These people have witnessed this before, they've lost their families once already. They aren't going to watch it happen again.

Before long, a mob of three hundred trails behind us, fathers carrying babies, cats clutches by bawling children. We're running for the woods, my body following the trail before I even realize it.

"They'll know," Peeta says, motion towards the woods with a sweaty forehead. "Somewhere else," He says.

"Where?" I beg, turning to him for answers. He looks at me longingly, gently shrugging as we run. He's just as clueless as I am. We're guiding a mob of hundreds, and we don't even know where we're going.

But before I can offer any words in return, someone shoves through the crowd and practically rams into us. It's Roman, ragged breaths, dragging a girl in his hand.

"The river," He huffs, and I look towards him with desperate eyes. "The river," He repeats, but I don't understand.

"It's too far for those planes to go without signals cutting out. The mountains, they," He pauses to catch his breath. "They lose signal there. No trackers, nothing."

The river. It was always to thickly overgrown to even visit with Gale, and the climb was too steep. It swoops down the mountains in a snaking formation, but it rushes quickly and makes you deaf to the woods. Useless to us, but now, might be our only hope.

"How far?" Peeta asks.

"Three miles, maybe four." Roman answers, and I nod.

"Then let's go," Peeta says, and we do.

I feel sick. I can hear the whir of the planes above, and all I can think the moment it all might end. They drop one bomb on this group and that's it. Dead before it even its the ground. At least now, under the cover of trees, they might face some difficulty in finding an exact target.

As we're sprinting, thousands trailing behind us in every direction, I'm thinking of this all. The uprisings, the shooting, the planes above our heads. What's happening? Plutarch warned me that peace is only temporary, but why would anyone be upset with these terms? Of course, though, it's not the Districts fighting back this time. It's the Capitol.

How sick to think that those pampered snobs, never suffered, are fighting to regain what we had before. Pain and sorrow throughout the country, starving children, sickly parents, no food. And they want it back. They want that power, the thought that they can rule again, twisting and manipulating our fates. Like a game.

And this, I know, is my final act of defiance. I am setting into darkness, my glow is gone. The moon has begun to dimly shine in the absence of my light, a few stars twinkling in the sky. But mostly, it's just black. Darkness consumed by darkness. Even though Peeta is close, he is as far away as ever. Fire bombs could drop on us at any second, and I'm losing my grip on life.

Darkness.

I hear the rush of the river when the ground begins shaking, just the slightest. At first, it's just this light whizzing sound, but then, a bone rattling tremor that forces even me to a stop. We all turn back toward home when we hear it, and some just break down at the sound. Sobs, wailing and shaky, in children, in parents, in everyone. The girl with Roman has buried her face in his sweat soaked shirt, letting out these little sobbing sounds like a newborn baby. Even Peeta's eyes have welled with tears as the reality of the situation hits everyone.

They dropped a bomb on District 12. Finally, after we have healed once more, the wound is just reopened. This is no longer an uprising. This is war.

It has inflated into this before I even realized what was happening. Before we went back to the Capitol, I hadn't even heard of an uprising. And now, just a few months later, we're watching as planes drop bombs on our homes. Helpless, everyone just sobs on, waiting to wake up from this nightmare.

So finally, I break down. I collapse against the rocks, my sweaty cheek pressed against the cool, stone surface. For the weeping children, for the desperate parents, and for everyone who has to experience this horror again, I break down.

My mind swims with thoughts of death and hatred and sorrow. Peeta eventually slumps down next to me, apparently emptied of tears. So it's when I see his face, his puffy red eyes and his sorrowful expression that I remember.

"_Haymitch!_" I shout, and I can see the expression on Peeta's face flip when it happens.

"Where is he?" Peeta asks hurriedly, and shoots up from where he sits. I do too, even though I'm hungry and tired and weak, because through all of this, we've forgotten Haymitch.

"You don't think...?" I ask through a choking sob, but Peeta furiously shakes his head.

"No, no. Of course not." He assures me, so I just nod and swallow the lump in my throat that won't disappear.

We're forcing out way through the crowd of broken souls, calling his name, searching every face for him. I can't bear the thought of leaving him behind; the guilt would kill me. How could we forget about him? The realization makes me sick.

"Roman!" Peeta shouts, and pushes towards where he sits with the girl clutched in his arms.

"Have you seen Haymitch?" Peeta asks, and Roman opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off my a grunt behind him. When I cock my head sideways, I can't help the gasp that escapes my lips.

"_Haymitch_," I murmur, stepping toward him. He's curled up against a rock, a layer of sweat formed on his forehead. He's gently grunting as he breathes heavily, his fingernails dug into the moist dirt below him. But most distinctively, he's clutching his side with a desperate force, but there's no hiding the blood that's seeping through.

Peeta immediately dives forward, kneeling next to him. I'm frozen, just standing there like a statue, unable to react to what's happened. I just watch as Peeta quickly asks about the wound and the severity, but mostly his words are white noise to my ears. Nothing seems to be functioning.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, and try to force something into order.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am eighteen years old. Bombs were dropped on District 12. War is upon us. Haymitch is injured. And I miss Peeta. _

Better.

Peeta is barking orders at Roman, who uses all of his strength to pull the clinging girl from his chest. After I get a better look at her, I realize that she is not as young as I originally thought. Probably Roman's age, maybe a bit younger. She's shaking, and these gentle little sounds are coming from her throat that no one can quite understand. By the time Roman returns with a scrap of fabric soaked in water from the river, she's on the edge of a break down. She immediately clings back onto him as he slides back against the rock.

Peeta lays the wet cloth over Haymitch's forehead, and then slowly begins pulling his shirt up. When the wound is revealed, it's too covered in blood to really make any sense of.

"Urgg..." Peeta grunts, and without question, pulls his shirt over his head. He wads it into a ball and then presses down against Haymitch's side, causing a groan from Haymitch and a dirty look toward Peeta.

"What...what happened?" I ask, although I have to turn away from the blood before I get sick.

"Someone was running, cut him by accident," He says quietly, but continues to press the shirt against the cut. The explanation seems odd, but I don't argue, because Peeta is working to hard to bother now. His face has taken that look of concentration he often gets, and I'm watching the wrinkles form and loosen and then reform as he thinks. His tanned back is glistening with sweat in the hot day light, and I can see his muscular abdomen as he turns toward me.

"I think he'll be fine," He concludes, and I nod.

"It didn't go deep." He adds, and I sigh. How could we have even forgotten about him in the first place? If we were with him, this surely wouldn't have happened, would it? Still, something seems strange about his story. Haymitch may not be young, but he's quick, plus, he's always got his wits. How would he allow for that to happen? The questions are troubling my mind as Haymitch clears his throat and mumbles my name.

"Katniss," He groans, and I turn toward him. His face his sweaty and pale, and his grasp shaky on my arm. My eyes lock with his expectantly.

"You know what this means, don't you?" He asks roughly, and I nod.

"We can't go back," He says, and I nod again, but this time, I'm fighting tears. The thought that home has become not-home again fills me with anger and sorrow. But I know I can't break down here, not in front of Haymitch.

"Just remember," I choke out quickly, "Stay alive." He manages one smile before and turns his head back over and gently closes his eyes.

Peeta continues tending to Haymitch as I wander off, watching as children start to fuss for food. I know that we're going to need to get some help soon, with this many people. There's berries, and plants, and I could hunt if I had the weapons, but that would feed the tiniest percentage of the people here. We're going to need something extreme now.

I sit back down by the river, away from Haymitch and Peeta and Roman and the hysterical girl. I can't handle their pain any longer, so I just lay against the large rock and close my eyes for a while. The sound of the river next to me is comforting through my hectic surroundings, and I let out a shaky sigh.

So of course, I'm startled when I wake up in Peeta's arms. He's carrying me, somewhere, somehow, but I'm not even fully conscious. I don't know what's happening, but I'm slipping away again. I know that I can't really control what I'm saying now, so I'm careful not to let too many words escape.

"Again?" I ask, vaguely reminding him of that day months ago in the woods, when he carried me home all that way.

"I'll gladly carry you home any day," He replies, and it's the last thing I hear before I doze off in his strong, warm arms.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

When I groggily open my eyes, I'm vaguely aware of the tube pushed into my arm and the wires pressed against the back of my neck. But what concerns me more than anything else are the walls around me. Clean and white, with one glass door facing an oblivion of grayness into one endless direction. A tray sits beside my bed, and a simple counter lines one wall. The familiarity of this place, it's too intense to deny. I pull myself into a sitting position, as far as the straps around my waist will allow, and look around more closely. This compartment, this bed, these walls, they are more than familiar. I know them. These are the walls that enclosed me after the Games. The walls I threw myself against for Peeta, the walls I clung to waiting for an explanation of the Quell. My stomach drops, and I let out a quick, ragged breath. A moan escapes my lips as I pull myself from this nightmare. What could wait around the corner? Tools of torture and faces of resentment? Who knows. But I cannot bare to find out.

My screams bounce against the walls, echoing through the tiny room. My throat is dry and sore, but the sound is clear. I'm screaming for help, for escape, to a familiar face in this horror. Something that can save me.

And at first, there is no one. Just me, and my screams, and my distorted reflection in the glass door. But between my mutilated shrieks, something else rises. The light tap of foot steps against floor. I silence my voice at once, my heart beating quickly. When I hear the last step before they reach the door, my breath catches, and I hold it there, waiting for whatever horror might appear.

"_Katniss!_" Peeta gasps, relieved. He's tired, bags hanging under his eyes, and all he's wearing is a hospital robe. From the cool breeze that blows across the room, I can only hope that he's had the decency to pull on some undergarments.

"Peeta?" I ask, shooting up. With the movement, the first quick one I've made since waking up, the room spins slightly. I instincivly clutch Peeta's arm for support, and he gently slides his hands to my waist to secure me. After a minute or two of spinning, I give Peeta a nod. He slowly lets his hands free, almost as if he's not sure if I'm ready or not. But, as soon as I can think clearly again, I don't waist any time.

"What's happened?" I ask, "Where are we?"

"We're okay, Katniss. It's okay," He says reasurringly, but I don't want his gentleness now. I want the truth.

"Peeta, _what's happened_?" I ask again, this time with a more pressing manner. I can tell there must be something he's hiding, something he doesn't want to say. But he can't keep this from me, and from the way his eyes dart back and forth, he knows this, too.

He just stares at me for a while, ruefully sighing. Finally, I must outlast him, because he nods and begins. This is what he tells me.

Rebel forces, those from within the Capitol, dropped the bombs. They targeted 3, 7, and 10 the same day. The bombs were not those meant to cause damage, but what he calls burrowing bombs. They are dropped in wide areas and bury themselves some 200 feet into the ground. They date back to before the Games, meant to scare people more than anything. After the Capitol was alerted, several hovercrafts visited each of the targeted districts, which is when we were picked up. Haymitch had the worst of the wounds, but he's doing better now. I suffered mild dehydration, and Peeta, whose face twists with pain when he says it, relapsed. He assures me that he's fine, though, even if his face tells me differently.

We aren't safe on the ground anymore. So we're flying. Up and up and up, away from the sorrowful grounds below. Where? Neither of us are sure. But we're safe. And that's all we can be sure of now.

So when it's finally silent, after his words have been spoken, after mine, after both of our heavy sighs, the drugs start to pull me under. I don't know if this is on purpose, if some overseeing eyes have caused it, or if it's just chance. But Peeta can see my eyes drooping.

"I'll go," He nods, but I loosely reach for his hand.

"Stay with me," I murmur, and I can't help the light smile that crawls across my face. Not because it's funny, or even that smile-worthy, but because I'm hoping it will make him smile back.

Through my half-opened eyes, I can see his glossy eyes. Tears have swelled in his eyes, but I'm too drowsy to really understand it. I just let his fingers wrap around mine.

"Always," He chokes out, and a soft hum coos from my throat right before the drugs pull me under for good.

My hands are shaking as I concentrate on poking the chunk of potato on my plate with my fork. It keeps sliding off in one direction or another, and it takes all my strength to finally plunge the tiny daggers right through the pour potatoes heart. I've gained several stares in my efforts, but I just ignore them and enjoy my hard-earned bite.

We're sitting in what you might call a dining room. The floors and walls are metal and covered in grime, and the table is really just some large utility benches covered with table cloths. Several of these tables are scattered in plots throughout the room. Peeta and I sit together at one, but our words are scarce and few. No one mentions what happened before, what we said, how he responded. And I'm glad.

Haymitch is still recovering, so he hasn't made an appearance just yet, but I'm sure they can't keep him locked in their for too long. I tried to visit, but they wouldn't allow it. Maybe its for the better, though. No one has been in the best mood since what happened.

Some military members sit at one table, and a few people I recognize from working with Plutarch sit at another. Some others, those I can't quite classify, are scattered about, quietly eating the sludge of stew on our plates. Compared to the room I woke up in, this seems like quite the step down. But, I'm not one to complain.

After a few more minutes of silent chewing, it's not Peeta that speaks to me next. The plate slams down next to mine with the heavy clack of boots against the floor as the voice presents itself.

"Is this seat taken?" Gale asks, but neither Peeta nor I respond. We just sort of numbly stare, so Gale nods and sits down. He must realize the absence of conversation, so he doesn't press for words. Peeta always had the way with the words, anyway, not Gale. And even now, Peeta is speechless.

After I manage a few more bites, I don't resist when one of Plutarch's men asks all three of us to come to the Command room. I'm not entirely sure what the command room is, but it's got to be better than this.

As we walk down the plush hall, I watch Peeta and Gale, side by side, walking steadily. It's strange, to see them here together. Peeta, broken and crazed, Gale the same. So maybe they aren't so different. They've seen many of the same horrors, witnessed the same deaths, faced the same torture. But even as I think of it, I know that Gale will always be different. That thing, that fire, it will always haunt every memory I have of him. Nothing can extinguish now.

We're lead into a small room, this one much nicer than the last. The floor is covered in think red carpet, and the walls are decorated in finely painted flowers. My fingers tinkle against the glossy table as Plutarch, who I'm astounded to see, motions for us to sit down. I purposely separate myself from Peeta and Gale, wedging between Plutarch and the man who brought us in. Several more people pile in, until finally Plutarch clears his throat.

"War," He says ruefully, "is upon us. It is undeniable now, although somethings are still unclear. After the bombing in Districts, the members of this party of Rebels did become a bit clearer, but key details are still missing. Reasons, explanations; you see what I'm saying." He says, and several people nod.

"So now, you've been brought here. For your safety, yes, but for another reason as well." He says. He pauses, waiting for our questions to fill the gap. But when no one speaks up, he just continues anyway.

"We cannot risk your presence in the Districts. As prominent figures, you will be main targets. We cannot evacuate thousands as we have evacuated you here. It's simply logical to take the match from the kindling, rather than taking the kindling completely, you see." Several more nod.

"Paylor has been working diligently to control these outbursts, but it seems that this has turned into something far greater than just a few rebellious outbreaks in the Capital. These are acts of warfare, and ones that have been predicted." He nods, and I remember his words at the end of the war so many months ago. He told me that peace was here, but that it's fragile. And he was right. Fragile it was.

He adds a few more details about our flight path, but seeing that we won't be leaving anytime soon anyway, I don't pay attention directly. I catch a few words of meals and rooms, but otherwise, I'm mostly tracing the outline of Peeta's jaw against the dark walls. I don't even notice when he dismisses us.

"Coming?" Peeta asks, and I nod. I carefully get up after him, following him down the hall. Gale follows behind me, our footsteps all muddled together in the haze of this weary day.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Hours melt into days that melt into weeks. It's not so bad at first. Some quiet time to form my thoughts and opinions on what's happened to my home and my life and everything I know. So we keep flying, and I keep thinking, and that's it.

_That's it._

The only things shared with Peeta are some occasional glances and smiles that don't really mean anything. But that's all right. Loneliness is solitude. And solitude is kinder than love.

Gale virtually disappears, but that's okay, too. Because as the time passes, old feelings are brought back to light. The depths of anger are pitted within me, and I can't help it. Watching him, whole and well, and thinking of what I used to know; it's all too much. He's hurt too many people to ever fully receive my forgiveness.

Haymitch recovers. But without alcohol, he's grouchier than ever. He goes through a short withdraw, and his spirits become so low that he's even disappointed in himself. Although the story of the knife still seems strange, I don't push him for answers. Even if I did feel like talking, he wouldn't. So I leave him be.

It's been almost two weeks before I give Roman a thought. I feel guilty almost instantly, wondering if he's all right. They give us very little news of the Districts, only receiving the smallest tidbits when we land for the shortest of times. I think to ask someone, if they heard, if they know, but it's pointless. Who would know? He's just one boy in a sea of thousands. To ask would be a simple waste of time. So I just worry.

We're assigned compartments to sleep in, two to a room. Because Peeta and Gale are so close in age, they're obviously paired together. Tensions rise each day, Peeta becoming more and more fragile, Gale becoming more irritable. I feel lucky to be on my own, left to my thoughts and pain all alone. Plutarch says I'm too fragile to handle a room mate now, and I don't argue. The place actually becomes something of a mess, my issued outfits strewn across the floor until someone forces me to pick them up. It's rather irresponsible, yes, but what does it matter now? I'm no one's role model.

There are no televisions here, so people stumble about looking for some sort of entertainment. Being from District Twelve, most of us can get along easy enough, but even I'm getting a little stuffy inside this hovercraft. Some people play cards, or bet, or tell stories of home. It's mostly soldiers, along with some Capitol officials who work below Plutarch. They're nice enough, but I don't mingle much. So when they talk, play, or bet, I wait. For the one thing I can always count on. The sunset.

We always wait together. No one says it, but he's always there. Waiting, watching, just like me. That brilliant ball of fire, slowly sinking to oblivion. The lights streams through the slats on the thick windows, landing in curved patterns along the floor and wall. A few will land on my cheek, and he watches as they wiggle across my face. I remember that it's his favorite color, and I savor it every night.

And once it's gone, then we're left with what seems to haunt us forever and always. Darkness. Endless and forevermore darkness, filled with that uncertainty that has always lurked this world. I used to think that he could stop it, prevent it somehow. That he was my light in the darkness, my beams of orange sunshine. But now, I know the truth. He is not the light. He's the darkness. Just like me, just like Gale, just like all of us. He's faded and been blown away. And who really holds the light? Those select few. It hides away in the smallest of places. The laughs of children in the Square, the eyes of Finnick's son. But one thing I know for sure. Peeta has it no longer. Or maybe, he never had it, I only wished so. But whatever it may be, it doesn't matter then. Because the sun set, and that's it. Darkness consumes us. Like always.

But even so, when I'm laying there, tossing and turning under the covers of my tiny compartment, I wish for him. I hope that I'll hear his knock, see his smile, feel his touch. Because even if he has the light no longer, he has only become my equal. And I still care for him.

I wait.

But he never comes.

And time goes on.

Haymitch regains stability, eating meals more regularly and throwing a few words into the pile. He's prying Plutarch for news, but he has none to offer. Or so he says. He comes and goes, leaving when we land and reentering later on. He knows of what happens below us surely, but he will not share. He has direct contact with Paylor, and we all know it. If I could only have just a few minutes to talk to both of them, I could at least get a sense of the state of this country. But even through Haymitch's persuasion, he remains silent.

When I mention Roman, he just grunts and shakes his head. I press him for something more, but he refuses. I give up after almost three days of struggle, deciding that to live another minute of this torture is worse than any alternative. And it's not just me. Peeta's barely making it through the day. He's always shaking and shivering, even when he's not cold, and his words are jumbled. His pupils will dilate for hours as he confines himself under the lock of his door. Gale slips a few words of night mares and screams, but not enough to give any specifics. I know he's talking of Peeta, though. How could the night mares stop now? They never will.

So when it's been nearly a month, just a day short, I snap. Lots of small things lead up to it, the food, the people, the balmy rooms, but it was just one particular incident that forced me off the edge. We were eating, in that make-shift dining room, and it was Haymitch. He kept dragging his fork across the metal plate, and the screech that resulted was unbearable. So finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I lurched toward him.

Gale was shouting to pull me off, and I could feel someone's hands closing around me, but I didn't stop. I reached for the fork, and then crushed it under the weight of my fingers. Once deformed in my hand, it's daggers poked out in every direction: the perfect weapon for my purpose. I scraped it toward Haymitch, hoping to land somewhere precious. It sliced across his neck, and he immediately threw a slew of curses at me, and I didn't mind sending them back. We were screaming and clawing like animals, for no reason other than our own anxiety finally erupting.

So here I lay, strapped back down to my table, base zero. Gale stares at me with angry eyes, arms folded with a deep sigh.

"What are you doing out there, Katniss?" He asks, clenching his jaw.

"What do you care?" I spit, letting my anger spew toward him.

"I don't," He growls, slamming his hands against the table, "But he does." My expression softens, just for a moment, as confusion crosses my face. I try to knit the anger back into its original form, but I've lost my demeanor. My curiosity outweighs the fury.

"You don't hear him every night," He continues, "You don't know, Katniss! How can't you see? I've showed to before, and you're ignoring it! He loves you, Katniss, _he loves you!_"

I gulp as his words process. I'm numb, strapped down and helpless here. Gale's just shaking his head, and it makes me feel sick.

"If you heard..." He trails off, his voice disgusted as he says it.

"Just...stay here." He nods, and then dashes off, murmuring to himself. His words wash over me again and again.

Peeta loves me. Of course he does. I've always known this. It's just, things seem different now. Before, in the Capitol, everything seemed easier. But here, with Gale and Haymitch and sadness and boredom and everything else that lurks over my thoughts and dreams, it's foggy. Peeta is not himself, and I know it. He's darker now, and even if it's not his fault, I don't know how much more of it I can take. Gale is insisting that I see something I don't understand, and I can't. Besides, who's to say his words are as true as they seem? He lost my trust when he lost my love.

Eventually, I must doze off, because I don't wake until morning. The sun is rising, or so the light shows. A retched taste fills my mouth, and I'm surprised to see the restraints gone. My hair's been brushed, and someone must have changed my clothes, as well. I slide from the bed, my feet pressing against the cold floor. I tiptoe through the room and then carefully out the door.

And when I reach the window, that same window I every day watched the sunset from, I see a sight that makes heart stop. Not the clouds, not the air flying by, but something different. Earth. Trees, dirt, bees and birds. I'm astounded, and surely dreaming. I even pinch myself a few times to make sure. I'm awake, there's no doubt about it. So when I reach the dining room, I'm not sure what to expect.

"Well, don't just stand there, sweetheart" Haymitch says, "We're going on a little trip."


	20. Chapter Twenty

"What?" I question. My confusion only grows as I look around the room, watching as Gale tightens the laces of his boots, Peeta twists a canteen shut with a distinctive click. Others crowd the room, slipping on jackets or zipping up packs. I recognize most as soldiers, built and brooding.

"The hovercraft, it's not safe for you anymore." A soldier speaks up, his voice deep and smooth. My eyes wander for the source of the voice, and I find a man who towers over me. I recognize him from meals passings in the hall, but this is my first real interaction with him.

"And you think walking through some uncharted forest _is_?" Gale asks, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Not particularly," The soldier replies, "But it's our only option now."

"_What?_" I ask again, this time even more confused than the last. Every glance turns toward me, and some eye rolls are passed, but I don't care. I certainly don't expect these men assigned to protect me to line up for hugs and kisses.

"The hovercraft can be tracked. We had the systems cut off for some time, but the Capitol has them back up. Our only choice now is by foot." Haymitch says.

"Oh," is all I can manage. The group returns to their duties, packing and dressing. Haymitch points me toward a pack with my name inked on the strap, and I carefully unzip it. Inside I find a few bottles of water, packs of dried food, and an extra change of clothes. Next to the bag sits a pair of sturdy, leather boots, not so different from the pair I used to wear into the woods. They're snug on my feet, but feel good to walk in. I'm already dressed in the clothes I expect to be for the hike, but I have no memory of ever changing into them. I suspect that someone changed them for me while I was still asleep, but seeing that Gale was assigned the group doctor, I can only hope my suspicions are wrong. Because of all the predicaments I've encountered with Gale, him seeing me undressed is not one I hope for.

After pondering this for a while, I slip my pack around my shoulders and clasp the clip around my waist to keep it snug. While the group finishes, a rut settles in my stomach that I can't shake. At first, I'm unsure what causes it. But then I realize. The Games, the Arena, it's almost as if I'm entering again. Preparing myself like this, all dressed in the same clothes, reminding myself of my survival skills, it's all so familiar. I look to Peeta, who's standing against the wall with Haymitch, his hands shaking so severely he can't even tighten the straps of his pack properly. I take a few steps toward him, my knees wobbly, and lift his hands from the straps. His eyes dart to my hands, and then to my face. The look is that one could not forget. He's like that boy again, standing on his plate, waiting as the timer runs out. I give him a nod and a gentle smile, and he releases a shaky sigh. I tighten the straps around his back, and then give his sweaty hand a light squeeze. And he squeezes back, letting me know that he's still there for me.

As I go to pull away, he tightens the grip on my hand. He pulls my towards him, so that his lips are brushed right against my ear.

"_You're still trying to save me. Real or not real_?" He whispers, his voice shaky but clear to my ear.

I pause, letting his words sink in for a moment. But I can't keep him waiting for too long, because he realizes that I already know the answer.

"_Real._" I murmur, and he just nods. Then he lets me go, free to float into whatever oblivion might wait for my guilty soul.

* * *

><p>My sweat-soaked shirt clings to my back as I suck in a deep, heaving breath. I look around to scan the rest of our pack, and see that no one is in much better condition. Peeta's leaned against a tree, gulping large drinks from his canteen and blinking the sweat from his eyes. Haymitch, who although has kept up through the rugged trek, reaches for his pack with shaking hands. Gale stands at the front of our pack, reviewing a map with the soldier that spoke before, who I learn is named Chance. They seem to have taken a sort of acquaintanceship to each other, and it's just as well. Let them bond, because I surely won't.<p>

We've been walking for hours, and the sun is slowly creeping down the sky. It must be nearly eight o' clock, and apart from a few breaks to catch our breath, we've been trekking non-stop. But the rampart must be coming to an end for today, because Chase throws his bag down on the ground and starts searching for matches while some other soldiers pile up sticks to prepare a fire.

'We're stopping then?" Haymitch asks, and Chase nods. He practically collapses on the ground against a tree after hearing this, and right now, I feel like I could do the same.

I set my bag down and sit down a few feet away from Haymitch, but scoot a bit closer when Peeta slumps down on my other side. The words we shared earlier have only made our relationship more awkward, because it's obvious how much we're longing for each other. I focus intently on digging through my bag when I feel his eyes on me, and I don't stop until he turns away.

After the fire is built, everyone just sits, leaning against trees or against each other, drooping eyelids and slowing pulses. But it's our appetites that win over the drowsiness, because soon, I can't quiet my growling stomach. It's too late to hunt for anything now, even if I did have the tools, so I decide to break open the stash in my pack. I settle for some dried apples, which I munch on eagerly. Haymitch offers me some dried beef, so I give him a few slices of apples in exchange. It makes for a fine little dry meal, along with a few gulps of water to wash it all down.

Once everyone's mostly satisfied, I reach for my sleeping bag in my pack when Chance interrupts.

"I think we need to review the plan," He announces, and waits for a moment, almost as if he is expecting some sort of response. But when no one offers any, he just continues.

"Plutarch himself appointed me head of this group, so as of now, you are under my control. So it's important that you know what's happening." He says, but the tone of his voice is getting more and more annoying the drowsier I become. I just want to sleep now, as there will be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. But he insists that we listen now.

"We're going to be walking like this, at least for a while." He says, "We need to leave the radar that the Capitol will be searching."

"Right now, it's unclear who stands on which side. But your government, I've been told to assure you, stands for the Districts. These rebellions have been sparked by others, but have gained enough strength in weapons to become a threat. You saw the bombings in the Districts. They have weaponry now, so they have become a major threat."

"So my job," He continues, "_Our _job," He motions to his small troop of soldiers, "is to protect the members of our group until this threat is contained. The hovercraft became unsafe when the rebel forces hacked into the hardware that allows them to track Capitol aircraft. So our only option now is by foot. Cars would work, but only on roads, which would force our travel through the Districts, which would _not _work. So if it's all right with you, we'll be sticking to walking."

A few people chuckle, but I don't bother. Just staying awake is taking all of my strength.

"So tomorrow, we'll keep walking. We've got at least a day's walk yet, until we can stop for any elongated amount of time. So rest up," He says, and then sighs. I yank my sleeping bag from my pack, and don't hesitate to slip in. Even with the hot weather earlier in the day, I can feel the temperature dropping. It would be better to share with someone else, double the body heat, but there is not one person in this group I would be willing to hop into a sleeping bag with right now. So I just slip on my jacket, zip up the bag, and hope for the best.

And as I turn to my side, adjusting my position inside the cooped bag, I look over toward Peeta and meet his gaze. It's just this for a while, watching the fire flicker in his shining blue eyes, wondering what he might be thinking. But eventually, my stare gives out. My eyes start sliding shut, and I don't stop them. But right before I succumb to the darkness, one word burns in my thoughts.

"_Always." _


	21. Chapter Twenty One

"Katniss! _Katniss, __**wake up**_!"

I jolt forward, pushing the hairs stuck against my clammy forehead to the side and feeling for whatever awoke me.

"Shh, Katniss. It's me." Peeta's blue eyes are right in front of mine, and my hands instinctively wrap around his.

"It's me, Katniss." He whispers again, "You're okay." He assures me. He nods, and I nod back, still panting and shaking. Having almost completely fallen out of my sleeping bag, I realize how cold it is. Peeta sees this, and hands me my jacket. I could have sworn I fell asleep with it on, but I must have torn it off at sometime in the night. Gray morning light is just beginning to rise, and a gentle mist seems to have set all around us. I'm rubbing my arms furiously as I try to warm up, but to no prevail. Peeta immediately sheds his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders, leaving him in just his thin shirt. I try to object, but he doesn't allow it.

For the first time since waking up, I look around our makeshift camp, expecting to see the sleeping bodies of our six other group members. But instead, I find six pairs of eyes, each staring directly toward me. The soldiers look away when they catch my eye contact with theirs, but Gale doesn't bother. He just watches me, and I watch him, until I finally force myself to turn away from his gaze before I am completely full of anger and guilt all together.

"You're okay?" Peeta whispers, and I nod. But either from the expression on my face, or my shaking body, or both, he sees right through me.

"You were never good at lying," He says with a smile, and then stands up and offers his hand. "I've got to get out of here, just for a minute." He whispers, and I don't hesitate to follow.

He leads me down a makeshift path that we must have made the night before, through the thick forest. Trees tower over our heads, some that I recognize from home, but others that are completely foreign. But it's the woods. So it's home.

After a few minutes of careful trekking, we reach a small stream. Peeta leans over and splashes his face with the running water, but I don't dare. Considering how cold the air is, the water must be chilling. And still soaked in sweat, I'm cold enough.

"You heard me?" I ask, "The nightmare, I mean." He chuckles and shakes his head.

"We all did," He says as he lifts up his shirt to wipe his face dry. "You were screaming," He adds quietly.

"Oh," I murmur, but turn away, hiding my face from him. It's not anger that I'm hiding though, or sadness; it's longing. For him, for his thoughts, his touch, his everything. I can't do this again without him.

"Katniss," He says, and brushes his fingers across my hand.

"Peeta, don't," I say hesitantly, but my voice cracks, making it less forceful then I originally intended.

"Don't_ what_?" He begs, pull me around to face him. His face is longing for answers, but I can't bare to watch him in pain.

"Don't do this again!" I exclaim, "Don't make me want you even more; it's torture. You know what I mean, don't act like you don't. I can't keep letting my emotions get in the way of what's important!"

"And what's important?" He shouts, raising his hand in the air. "Living, staying alive? Because I know you, Katniss. You can't live like that, alone. You pretend like you can, like you don't get attached. But you do! And you don't want to hear it, because you're afraid you might feel something back, but I have to tell you, Katniss. I lo-"

But his words are cut off as I press my lips against his. He's startled at first, his eyes widen and his body tenses, but his physical longing must overcome his worries and regrets, because his hands fall from the air and slide down my back, resting on my hips. It was a reckless decision to spring upon him like this, but I couldn't take it anymore. I missed the boy with the bread.

At first, it's just a soft, gentle embrace; his warm lips pressed against mine, but then he pulls back.

"I'm sorry," I stammer instinctively, suddenly afraid that my actions were too rash. But a wide grin stretches across his scarred face, and his blue eyes light up like never before.

"For what?" He asks with a seductive chuckle, and then tightens his grasp around my waist and kisses me with so much passion and fury that I'm afraid I might not keep up. With his height, I'm standing on my toes just to reach his lips. When he sees this, he doesn't hesitate to lift me from the ground with one sweeping motion, holding me there until were both breathless.

He sets me down, but our lips never separate. He pushes me against the nearest tree, leaning over my body, his lips grazing my neck. I run my fingers through his hair as our mouths form against each other's. With his warm arms wrapped around me, and his hot breath against my face, I suddenly realize that I'm not so cold anymore.

"I missed you," I say, and he leans back pushing a stray hair behind my ear. "I missed you so much."

"And I can't do this again without you," I add, and he just watches me for a moment, thinking.

"You're one of the strongest people I know. You _can _do this without me," He says with a nod, and then smiles. "You just don't want to." Then he leans in and gives me one more kiss, and just like in the cave, and again on the beach, it finally leaves me wanting more.

* * *

><p>"I'm hungry," Peeta says as he slides down next to me, leaning against the wide trunk of a tree.<p>

"How do you deal with it?" I ask him suddenly, turning toward him.

"Being hungry?" He asks, "Well, if you haven't forgotten, I was a tribute in the _Hunger_ Games. Twice, actually." He adds with a teasing smile.

"No,** this.**" I say, motioning to my surroundings. "How can you laugh and smile and carry on? I can barely make it day to day, and I'm not even..." I trail off, unsure how I could possibly finish my thought in a kind way.

"Crazed?" He asks cunningly, and I shoot him a scowl.

"That's not what I meant," I say, and he just smiles and nods.

"I know," He says, and then pauses. He closes is eyes for a moment, only opening them to finally speak up.

"At first, I couldn't. I couldn't really carry on. Back in Thirteen, I couldn't function. I don't know exactly how to explain it, it's just...foggy. Like, I knew what I was doing, what I was thinking, it was wrong. But I couldn't control it. I hated hurting you, watching you watch me, it was more tortuous than anything the Capitol inflicted. So you know, I'm better now, I'm taking my medicine. But, even when things are clearer, sometimes I think I can't make it. Like I might snap, and make one wrong move and lose you forever. But I think that's how I make it. Seeing you, being with you, it helps. I need you, Katniss, so much more than you realize."

His words seem to bounce through the air, settling in my head and then rustling about again. Peeking inside of his world, just in the smallest way, seems like an odd invasion of privacy. But I'm glad for it, this piece of himself he's sharing with me, because it shows me that the kiss was more than just a kiss. It was the key to him, to have him back. So this time, I don't think it matters _what_ we are, as long as we know why.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, shaking my head.

"Katniss, no," He whispers, "You have nothing to apologize for." He nods, flashing his expectant eyes almost to ask _"Okay?"_ so I nod back to assure him. But even his words cannot silence the guilt that I feel.

"Let's go back?" He asks, and carefully pulls himself up, balancing his weight on his good leg and then shifting it even. It must be hard for him to walk on this rocky terrain, but I still take his hand when he offers to help me up. Mostly because I just want to hold his hand again, even for the shortest time.

As we walk back, a smile spreads across Peeta's face.

"What?" I ask, but he just shakes his head.

"I was just thinking that...that this might not be so bad. I thought that coming here might be a mistake, but now, it might be kind of fun." He says, then looks towards me with a half smile.

"Peeta, we're on the run from war criminals. There are people who want us dead!" I say in disbelief, but the smile doesn't leave his face.

"What else is new?" He says as he laces his fingers into mine, his warmth consuming me with each step I take. I smile, letting my problems float away as I indulge in the time I do have with that sweet smile and those brilliant blue eyes. Because even if he is broken or lost, I know one thing for sure.

He'll always be there to save me from the nightmare that is myself.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

The sun warms my back as I lean against Peeta's knees, his hands fiddling through my hair. After two more days of intense walking through the woods, we finally reached a spot that Chance cleared for a few days rest. Now we're not running, just hiding. And after feeling my sore muscles the next morning, I would take this over hiking any day.

I can't remember the last time I felt so calm, so happy. I should be worried and alert, ready to make the next move, but I am caught in a trance that leaves me carefree. And Peeta's arms keep me entangled.

These woods are different than the kind back home. Softer, greener, kinder. Gentle streams replace boulders and tufts of wild flowers sprout where rotted stumps would sit. The days are warm, but not too hot, and we often spend out free hours as we spend them now: soaking up the sunshine in each other's embrace.

It's Gale who worries for us. He's always pressing for information, trying to decipher a new puzzle. When Chance gives him nothing, he moves onto the other three soldiers, who give in a bit more easily. I can never remember their names, because with their shaved heads and similar bulky build, they look identical. They're younger than Chance, and not at all as brooding. I can see how nervous they get when Gale slyly questions them, and they're often reminding each other that "they don't know anything." Gale becomes frustrated, and spends most of his time setting snares that he doesn't intend to catch anything with.

It's mid-morning, on a gray, calm day, and I'm leading Peeta down the stream. Chance is rather picky about the times we spend in the open, always referring back to his digital keypad that makes these small beeping sounds when he doesn't give it enough attention. I think it's some sort of tracker, but something also tells me that he must be receiving messages from Plutarch on it, or someone of the sort. We barely slip away from the small campsite, and even then, Chance warns us to stay close.

Peeta has never fully mastered the skill of walking, and his leg makes it difficult to balance on the slippery rocks. He grips my shoulder for support, wobbling back and forth. His hair has grown long over his ears, and he's always brushing it out of his face.

"You need a hair cut," I say, brushing my fingers across his forehead, pushing the stray hairs away from his eyes.

"Hm?" He says, turning toward me. He crosses his eyes to look up against his forehead, focusing on the shaggy hair. "You think?" He says with a smile.

I slide my fingers into his, pulling him through the stream. We walk for a few minutes more, watching tadpoles wriggle through the water, until we reach a large, flat rock and I sit down on it. I let my feet dangle into the water, and Peeta sits next to me. He dips his finger into the water, and then swirls a tiny pattern onto the rock. I like to watch him work, the way his hands move, how his eyes trace the pattern before it's even been drawn. He curls the design down the rock, and then looks up, watching me watch him.

"Katniss," He says, twisting his lips slightly.

"Hm?" I ask.

"You've been in love with someone," He states, and my cheeks blush pink. He can tell he's embarrassed me, because he squeezes my hand and laughs.

"No, no." He assures me, "I just meant, real or not real?" I watch as he tackles this in his mind, wrestling against thoughts that aren't really his.

"Oh," I murmur, biting my lip. "I..." I trickle off, because the words don't come. But finally, after watching him suffer with his own mind enough, I speak.

"Yes," I say boldly, nodding my head. He thinks this over for a moment, maybe decoding what it means, or who I'm referring to. I want to speak, but I don't want to disrupt him. So I let him think until he's ready. And although what he says next startles me some, I know what he's going to ask before it even leaves his lips. But I'm afraid. So I press my lips against his, letting his hand hold my face. He pulls away slightly, and smiles.

That's when I know that I'm not as scared as I thought. Peeta is my warmth, my light, my rising sun. And even though everything around us is crashing down, he will always be there, rising. And sometimes he's covered by clouds, by darkness, yes, but we both are. We can never expect to see the sun every day. But I can expect to see him when I need it. Dawn has come, exploding with beautiful light. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

So after, when he whispers, "You love me, real or not real?"

I tell him, "Real."

END OF PART TWO


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

PART III: THE RISING

It was hotter than most days, the kind of weather that left my hair stuck to my neck and the palms of my hands sticky with sweat. We were all breathing heavy, wet breaths, Peeta, Gale and I, like children playing in the heat of summer. Gale had decided to stop worrying, or maybe he just couldn't handle it anymore. Even though it went without saying, I think he has even started to enjoy his free time in the woods. Which is good.

I think.

"Stay still," I instruct Peeta, who sits on ground below me. It wasn't long before I couldn't stand Peeta's hair for a moment longer, and decreed it needed cutting. But now, I'm not so sure I should have been the one to carry out this deed.

The scissors are wobbling in my hands, too big for my slender fingers. They're from Gale's medical kit, one pair out of what seems like dozens. He's watching me now, the worried expression on my face, as I try to line the scissors up with Peeta's hair. It's making things worse, his watching me, and I sigh in frustration.

"Any day now." Peeta suggests mockingly, but I just scowl. Neither of them are helping the situation, and I'm afraid Peeta's only going to end up with a cut on his ear.

I hesitantly reach my hand forward, straightening my fingers and squeezing the blades against the hair on his neck. I press down in one quick motion, cutting off what probably adds up to a quarter of an inch of hair. Gale sighs.

"Here," Gale says, and stands up, stepping toward me. He slides the scissors from my hand and puts them in his own. In that instant, his hand wraps around mine just for a moment, but it's long enough for our eyes to meet. I stare at him for a second, but then my cheeks blush red and I turn away from his view. He slides the scissors under Peeta's ear and cuts away the stray hairs.

"There you go," Gale says to me, and then plops the scissors back in my hand. "Simple." he nods, but I don't respond.

I fix the scissors back around my hand, and then do my best to mimic Gale's motion. I start on his neck, working my way around his head until I reach his bangs, which I cut hesitantly. Gale explains that I should cut upward, and I experiment on some blades of grass. I finally choose what I think will look best, and slash the flipped hairs from his eyes.

As I work, Peeta recalls a time when his father was cutting his hair, before th war or the Quell or the Reaping or any real problems. He's explaining how sloppily done the cut was when the memory gets too shiny or fuzzy or he just can't think anymore, and he's cut short. I snip silently, not wanting to make anything worse.

I can feel his breathing becoming more calm when I hear it. It's faint, yes, but years in the woods have trained me for sounds like these. Gale must hear it to, because the same distinctive look coats our faces, and we've birth turned our heads to locate the source.

Peeta notices our changed expressions, and turns to face us.

"What are you guys loo-" he begins, but I cut him off with a faint 'shhh' and he shuts his mouth. He must realize that we're listening for something.

For what seems like an eternity, the woods are silent except for a few gentle chirps or hoots. I begin to believe that maybe my head was playing tricks on me when I hear it again, this time, loud enough for even Peeta to hear.

"There," Gale murmurs, standing up and taking a few steps into the direction we're all facing. I stand too.

"What was that?" Peeta asks, and I shake my head.

"It sounded like..." I say,

"A person." Gale finishes for me. I nod. We all pause for a moment, waiting for more, when the loudest cry yet is sounded. And we all hear this one.

_Help._


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

Gale didn't need to tell me to start running, I knew instantly. I could see it, in his eyes, in the sharp snap of his neck as he leaned in for a moment. I could sense his leg flinching, his fingers clenching together, and the deep breath he always took. Even if I didn't fully understand the relationship we shared anymore, we would never lose the connection we initially came together on: the way we knew the woods.

Peeta catches on quickly, joining in almost instantly. But it's those few seconds that separates Gale and me from Peeta. We will always be different, at least in this aspect. Maybe that's all it takes, a few seconds, to make the difference. Between the Seam children and the merchant children. The tributes and the victors. The living and the dead.

The sharp scream pierces the atmosphere again, severing the peaceful bubble that surrounds the woods. I speed up, passing Gale. I've always been quick, but mostly when it really counted. I don't know what's hiding in the confines of the forest, but I cannot leave those screams behind.

Jabberjays suddenly cross my mind, their menacing tactics and striking resemblance to the bird I carried on my chest to empower the people. I am suddenly in that steamy jungle once again, banging against the invisible wall that separated me from a place that would end the screams of everyone I loved. Prim, my mother, Gale, Madge, everyone, everyone, everyone. How this scream I hear reminds me if those in the arena! Annie's screams, too. The shape of Finnick's curled body is traced repeatedly in my mind, his whispers of torment swirling about. I clench my teeth, pushing the memories away and forcing myself to follow the screams ahead of me, instead of chasing those that lurk in the past.

"Here," Gale shouted, turning slightly and forcing his legs down a steep slope covered in soft grass. It is trampled under his feet, leaving a distinct trail. That's good, I think. Somehow to find our way back to camp.

Gale slows for a moment, and I mimic this action. Peeta slows as well, but he was already a bit behind. I know it's hard with his leg, and I wish there as a way to make the trek easier for him. But I remind myself that I don't have time to worry about that now.

"Listen," Gale says gently, and turns his head. At first it's silence, just the woods, but then I hear it. The soft snap of twigs and the brush of something against the undergrowth.

"Hello?" Peeta calls breathlessly, and we all wait for a response. Nothing.

"I could have sworn I heard somethi-" Gale begins, but he's cut off.

"Please, help!"

It's a woman's voice, raspy and forced. She's yelling and moaning, and Gale follows the sounds down the rest of the slope.

I can see where her footsteps were, where she pressed against bushes. From the way she was yelling, she must be in pain. It's foolish of her to make herself so vulnerable. These woods may not contain the worst of creatures, but are certainly not danger free either. Where did she come from? I thought Chance had said we were far away from any of the Districts, and it wouldn't make sense for people to be anywhere else. My heart starts pounding with the sense of nervousness that overcomes me as my mind races for an answer.

Gale pushes his way through two bushes that have grown together, carelessly breaking them apart when he jolts to a sudden stop. I can feel my heart speeding up, my head pounding with anxiety of who might wait for us. Maybe it's the Games that have left me like this, always afraid. Or maybe it was watching the deaths of so many I loved. Maybe I'm just always trying to prevent another.

An odd sound escapes Gale's throat, a mix between a gasp and a cough. It's almost like he's choking on the air as he breathes in it. For an instant, time seems to slow and I'm almost to afraid to see what's caused his surprise. But the clock keeps ticking, and I remind myself that I have no more time for fear.

I leap up next to Gale, and immediately wish I hadn't.

It takes a moment for my brain to comprehend the sight in front of me, and then to understand why is seems so familiar. I've seen this before, and I'm digging through my memories to figure out. Where have I seen this before? I'm silently playing 'real or not real' in my head. I know this.

And then it clicks. Of course. I've seen this same sight countless times on the old table in our ramshackle home back in 12. The expression, the sound, everything. The only things missing are my mother's tending hands and Prim following close behind.

A woman lays before us, covered in sweat. She's curled into a little ball, almost like a child throwing a fit. Her clothes are ragged and tattered; her nails caked with dirt. The most prominent feature, though, is not any of these. It's her large, protruding stomach.

Peeta steps behind me, almost as if he was waiting for me to give the all clear. He too let's out a gasp when he sees the woman, and his eyes widen.

I feel frozen, paralyzed almost. I try to step forward, but I'm stuck where I stand, my jaw gaping and my hands permanently formed into tight fists. I don't know if the sweat that drips down my back is from the heat, from the sick feeling I have now, or both. From one look at Peeta, I can tell he's in no better shape.

Gale, on the other hand, springs into action. He collapses onto his knees next to the woman, and his eyebrows knit themselves into a brooding manner. A solemn look comes over his face, the same one I've seen so many times before. Like he's setting a snare, so carefully placing the wires and netting. I can only imagine what must be racing through his head now.

"Who are you?" He asks, his shaking voice immediately giving away his somber expression. He's just as scared of what could be happening as we are.

"My name's Delphi," She says breathlessly, scooting herself up a little.

"Where did you come from?" Gale asks.

"The Capitol," She says quietly. My heart skips a beat when I hear this. The Capitol? It can't be. What would she be doing here? These woods were supposed to be their safe-zone, away from any Districts, let alone the Capitol itself.

But Gale doesn't seem shaken by this. He simply nods.

"And you're pregnant?" The question is rhetorical. Her figure is slim and small. She would not have a stomach as severely swollen for any other reason.

"Mmhmm," She nods, but she's biting her lip. She clenches a patch of grass beneath her and suppresses a scream.

Gale looks back at me, and says something, but I'm caught in trance And I don't hear it. I force myself to step forward.

"What?" I ask, turning toward him.

"Are you all right?" He asks again, and I nod. He sees through this, I can't tell, but he must not have time to question it further. He turns back toward Delphi.

"How long have you been pregnant?"

"Almost nine months, next week." She says, and I watch her struggling to add up the time in her head.

"And how long have you been in labor?" He asks, ending the question in a way that makes me think it's the last.

"Four days," She says, and her voice trembles as she does. I swallow to try to rid myself of the lump in my throat that forms when I hear this, but to no prevail. Gale reaches his hand out, and the looks to Delphi almost to ask for permission. She nods, and he lifts her shirt to reveal her stomach. The skin is blue and black, and the veins running across are protruding violently. I have to look away.

Gale looks back at me, and then quickly nods his had to pull me to the side.

"Gale," I start, but he just shakes his head.

"I know," He says solemnly. "I know."

"What are you going to do?" I ask quietly. He thinks for a moment.

"Try to save the baby," he concludes finally. He turns away, his jaw locking. I'm confused for a moment, not sure why this response is causing him so much pain. But then I realize.

Delphi is going to die.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

"I can't breathe." Delphi gasps, writhing against the ground.

"Yes, you can," Gale assures her, pausing from whatever he's examining. "Look at me. Yes, you can." He says, squeezing her hand as she sucks in a deep breath.

"The baby's deoxygenated. That's what's causing the discoloring. It's taking extra oxygen and making breathing difficult for her." He says quietly, softly enough that only I can hear. I'm half-knelt on the ground, my hands tugging at a tuft of grass. I'm not sure why Gale is explaining this to me, it's only making me feel worse. It takes a moment for me to realize that maybe he's just trying to assure himself.

I wonder how soon Peeta will be back. It was decided that he would go back to camp to receive Gale's bag. I argued against it, saying that I'm faster. Gale couldn't argue that, but we all knew Peeta was better at lying. If Chance or anyone else questioned one of us, Peeta would be the obviously better choice to come up with an explanation. And besides, someone had to stay with Gale here while we waited. I knew that Peeta would have been better to wait here, more comforting to Delphi just as he was to the morphling on the beach, but he was already off and running as I thought of this. As I watch her squeeze the coloring from Gale's hand, I wish I was doing Peeta's job instead.

"What are you going to do?" I ask shakily, but my voice is soft enough to reach only Gale's ear.

"I'm not sure." He admits, turning his neck to the side. "Her contractions are coming so quickly, but..." He trails off.

"There's so way for the baby to get out." I finish, realizing what he means. The baby can't be born without the proper amount of oxygen.

Delphi flops against the grass, breathing deeply. Her lips are pale, almost blueish, and her fingers shake. Deoxygenation is taking its toll.

I can tell as Gale watches her that he's trying to think of something to say, but nothing fills the silence besides her breaths. She's scared, though, I can see it in her expression. My mother used to say that the best thing you can do for a patient is comfort them. Talk to them, assure them if you can. And right now, Delphi needs reassurance.

"How old are you?" I ask suddenly, my hands shaking and my voice cracking. Gale looks at me, surprised, knowing I'm not one to start something like this. But I have to. I have to keep her here and breathing.

"Nine...teen," She says slowly, allowing for a breath between the syllables. She's younger than she looks. Her nails are purple, probably permanently dyed, and a striping tattoo extends from them up her arm. She's from the Captiol, I'm sure. But why? How? Now doesn't seem the appropriate time to ask, but I can tell Gale is itching for answers.

"Are you in school?" I ask softly, and she nods. I'm not sure what kind of schooling a nineteen-year-old would attend, but I do know that there are higher levels they can complete. I remember Cinna saying something about it.

"I wanted...to be a doctor." She says with a weak smile, and I force a smile too.

"You'd be a good doctor." I say, and she smiles again. This is good, smiling. She bites her lip, though, and I know that the absence of pain is short lived.

"Where's Peeta?" Gale asks, under his breath, but I ignore it. I stay focused on Delphi's eyes, blue with specks of purple that I know to be cosmetically enhanced. She watches me, too.

"_Do you really lo-_" But she's cut off as she lets out a loud screech of pain. I let her take my other hand, trying my best to appear strong for her. But I can feel my stomach churning with fear.

"Love him?" She finishes breathlessly, "Peeta, I mean?" She adds. Of course she knows us, she's from the Captiol. She watched the Games, probably even enjoyed them. And even though some old, small part of me wants to be angry, I'm not. She's innocent and in pain. I cannot blame her for anything now.

Suddenly, Peeta stumbles through the bushes behind us, bag in hand and chest heaving in exhaustion. He moved quickly, especially considering his leg. I smile as him to let him know I'm thankful, but it's small and he probably cannot tell.

Gale hops up immediately and plucks the bag from her. I stand too, leaving her on her own, but she nods to let me know it's all right. We form a small circle a few feet away as Gale digs through the bag.

"What are you going to do?" I ask after quickly filling Peeta in. Gale shakes his head. I'm asking that a lot today.

"I don't know. I...I don't think there's a way for me to deliver it naturally. But to do surgery here...I don't have the painkillers to do it here." He says.

"Then do it without." Peeta cuts in, his eyes wide in frustration. There's beads of sweat on his forehead and he still regains his breath.

"Are you crazy?" Gale asks, "She'd probably get sick from the pain. It's not an option."

"Then what are our options?" Peeta demands. He's angry, or maybe just upset. And I am too, to be fair.

"We could try to knock her out with some morphling soaked in a rag, but I'm not sure we'd be able to wake her up again." He says painfully.

"We've got to tell her, Gale. We need to let her decide." I say finally, but he's not sure, I can tell.

"Katniss..." He begins, but Peeta intervenes.

"She's right. It's her decision, her life. If she's going to die, let it be how she wants." Peeta says, and then turns to face Delphi before Gale can question it again. I feel sick as I follow him and slump down on the ground.

He explains everything to her, but my mind is numb as her hand shakes in Peeta's. But he doesn't quiver. He holds her hand tightly as she sobs against the ground, the pain and the choice and all of this taking her over. I turn away as she cries, as she shakes, as she chooses to stay awake.

And I'm not sure if I'm awake as I watch it happen, because it feels more like a dream than reality.

When Peeta holds down her arms.

When Gale slices her stomach open.

When she screams and chokes and begs for someone I don't know and never will.

When she looks at me with those eyes to plead for help.

When I can't do anything.

She only holds the baby for a moment before she dies, blood pooling around her. Peeta strips off his shirt for it, her arms weak around its tiny body.

"Luce," She notes with a weak smile, and Peeta nods, his eyes wet. I must be crying, too. But I don't, deserve to be. Peeta, and Delphi, yes. But not me. I should be stronger. But I'm not.

Peeta quickly slides his hand under the baby's head as Delphi's arms fall limp, examining the baby as his body shakes.

"She's beautiful," Peeta says softly.

But I have to look away. I cannot watch Peeta fall in love with this baby, this little girl. I've learned not to love fragile things. They only slip from your fingers.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

I've seen more sick children in my lifetime than almost anyone. Coughs that can't be soothed, fevers that can't be brought down, aches that cannot be dulled. I may not be a healer, but when I look into the infant's eyes, I know that something is wrong. Gale must see it too, from the way he watches her. She squirms in his arms in an unnatural manner. But Peeta is the only one who does not show recognition to this fact. If he sees it, he has chosen to ignore it. I wish I could be so carefree.

She's wrapped in Peeta's shirt, so Gale offers him his jacket. Its not cold, but even swaddled tightly the baby shivers. Despite this, we all remain silent. I'm sure Gale and I are thinking the same thing, but we're both too afraid to say it out loud. It's not just Peeta I'm afraid to hurt. I'm scared that if I say it, it I break down and accept the truth, it will break me.

Peeta is the one to break the silence. And I'm glad it's him, knowing that he will not be the deliverer of bad news.

"What do we do?" He asks solemnly. At first I'm afraid he has figured out the condition of the baby, but when I see the gentle smile on his face, I know it's not so. Gale and I look to each other, and I swallow to try to rid myself of the lump in my throat.

"We can't just bring a baby back to camp." He adds, looking between both of us. And he's right. If what Delphi said is true, then something is happening in the Capitol. Something greater than we know.

"Then what else do you suggest?" Gale snaps, and Peeta is obviously startled by this. But he regains his composure quickly.

"I don't know," Peeta admits finally, and slumps down a little. I don't blame him for this. He was only trying to solve a problem. Of course, I don't blame Gale for the outburst either. It's taking all the strenght I have just to hold myself together-I can't imagine how he's feeling now, the infant, Luce, squirming in his arms.

I allow my eyes to drift to the side, where Delphi's body still lays. I look back almost immediately, and my stomach turns quickly. Gale had the decency to stitch her up again, and laying there, she could almost be asleep if I didn't know otherwise. The thought makes me feel sick.

"She can't go long without something to eat." Gale notes quietly, and I look up to him. Our eyes meet, and his jaw clenches. I wonder what he's thinking, if it's anything close to the thoughts that rush through my head.

She can't go long at all, I think, but it's a sick, twisted thought that I banish from my mind instantly.

"What do we do?" Peeta asks again, this time his voice is desperate. And I know it's not his intention to ignite Gale again, but it happens anyway.

"We don't do anything!" Gale exclaims, and Peeta's eyebrows tighten in confusion. "She's sick, can't you see it?" Gale adds, throwing his free hand in the air. An odd look covers Peeta's face.

"What?" He questions softly, but there's something dark in his voice. Something i've never heard before. It's not anger, though. It's something deeper. Dispair.

"She's barely breathing, she's got a fever." Gale explains, anger lacing his words. I lean forward to stop him, but ignores me.

"Then help her, do something!" Peeta shouts, standing. "Do something!" He repeats, but Gale stays still.

"Why are you just sitting there? We have to help her!" His eyes become dark and desperate, and he looks to me for help. My eyes meet his and he sees what I am trying to say. He shakes his head in refusal.

"No, no!" He shouts, shaking his head. His hands squeeze into fists at his sides and I know that not all of this anger is his own fault. I stand too, reach for his hand, but he pulls it away.

"You're just going to let her die?" He shouts, and Gale looks away.

"Katniss," Gale says, and I know what he's suggesting. I need to get Peeta away from here.

"Like you watched Rue die? Or Mags? Or Prim?" He screams, and I lash at him, grabbing his arms and pushing him away. He fights me, but not with enough strength to stop me. I force him away from Gale and Luce and Delphi. When he can't go any further without breaking down, he slumps to the ground. He's gasping desperately, and his eyes are red with tears.

"No," He murmurs, and I squeeze his hand. "No!" He shouts, and pulls away. My eyes are wet, but I force myself to stay strong for him.

"Why does it happen like this?" He asks, and I look to him for explanation.  
>"Why?" He begs, "Why does everyone always die?" He shouts, and a choke escapes from my throat.<p>

And it's a good question. Why do people always die, or at least, before they've really lived? Combined we've lost more people than I can count. Our families have crumbled, our friends lost to a cause they couldn't help but fight for. And maybe I deserve it. Maybe I deserve to lose people, to feel that pain. But Peeta, he's different. He's better than the rest of us, and he doesn't deserve this pain. But in the end, it's not about who deserves to feel that pain. It's who's strong enough to feel it and not give up.

So when she dies a few hours later, her tiny body quiet and still, I'm not sure if any of us are strong enough. But it's almost as if a numbness overtakes me. I kneel next to Gale as he digs into the soft earth to bury her with her mother. It feels so wrong to lay something so seemingly alive into the ground, and I have to let Gale cover them with dirt until they entirely buried.

And for a while, I think that I might feel what Peeta feels. It's this ache in the pit of my stomach that screams for help. Everyone is gone. Everyone is dying and leaving and never saying goodbye. It's too much.

So when we wander back to the camp, our red eyes hidden only by nightfall, it's agreed that we will demand to be taken home. I cannot stay away from home any longer. Because even if it doesn't feel like home anymore, it's the closest thing I know.

I cling closely to Peeta that night, crying quietly into his chest. I don't have to worry about nightmares, because sleep never comes. By morning, I am exhausted and too broken to move.

It's Haymitch who intervenes on the arguments of Chance and Plutarch and allows us to go home again. He doesn't know of what we left in the woods, but he does know that we can't stay here anymore. And if the Capitol drops another wave of bombs, then at least I can be among those I love when it happens.

When the hovercraft appears, I hold Peeta's hand even when we're safely within it's cab. And I don't let go until we're home again.

The End


End file.
